


Blood Moon

by WritingintheCandlelight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Claiming, Courtship, Episode Related, F/M, Gen, M/M, Magical Realism, Mating, Pack Dynamics, Possessive Behavior, Protectiveness, Slow Build, Trust, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:10:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 168,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingintheCandlelight/pseuds/WritingintheCandlelight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles hated this. He hated lying, he hated the secrecy and he was beginning to hate that he had to pretend he was fine when he felt like he was falling apart. Takes place just after Abomination. Rating subject to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falling Apart

### Falling Apart

No one noticed when the young man began silently trudging along the sidewalk, his head bowed and his hands shoved into his pockets. Stiles Stilinski was used to not being noticed by a majority of the population, so the people passing him by and paying no heed meant nothing to him, but today not even his so-called best friend had seen him slip away from the lacrosse field midway through practice and head home alone.

Stiles could not find it in him to blame Scott for being so preoccupied. His best friend was usually absentminded in the best of circumstances, but now the poor guy had to deal with an uneven jawline, a borderline suicidal relationship, and his furry little problem all on top of dealing with their new teammate. Ever since Vernon Boyd had joined the lacrosse team the other night, it was clear to see that he possessed significantly less control of his abilities than Scott did.

Boyd seemed to be getting overwhelmed by his own senses and agility, and therefore it stood to reason that Scott had to keep an eye on him to ensure nothing of consequence happened in public. Boyd had the potential to expose the both of them if Scott didn’t concentrate his efforts on keeping the bulldozer of a man focused after all. That was enough to make anyone scatterbrained, but there was also the incident two nights ago, when Gerard Argent had dropped the grandfatherly act and revealed himself as the snake he was.

There had been something off about that man since the beginning, and the feeling of unease that first plagued Stiles at the funeral for Kate Argent had only grown when the old man wormed his way into the ultimate seat of power as Principal of Beacon Hills High. Stiles had not liked being in the same room with him, even if the old man had complimented him on his perfect grades. He’d felt vindicated and suitably upset when Scott confessed that Gerard impaled him with a knife in the parking lot of the hospital and then proceeded to threaten Melissa McCall.

Scott had been diligently guarding his mother all weekend, which meant he had little time for anything else, and Stiles understood that. He really did. He imagined he would have behaved similarly had it been his mother with the threat hanging over her head. Besides that, Melissa was practically family to Stiles anyway; he could forgive his friend for ignoring him in that instance if it meant keeping her safe.

Despite all of the pressure of his friend was under right now, Stiles was still finding it difficult to let go of the fact that Scott had abandoned him the other night before any of this had become an issue. It was true that the thing with Boyd was relevant enough during the game, but the thing with Melissa happened well after Stiles had been treading eight feet of water with Derek Hale of all people. And Scott? Scott had been dining with the enemy and had dismissed the call for help when Stiles had desperately needed him.

Scott might have come through in the end to pull Stiles and Derek out of the water, but then he had taken off to go pick up his mother without even offering Stiles a ride home. Stiles felt entitled to be a bit peeved that Scott had conveniently forgotten that the jeep had been impounded and he had no way of getting home. Had the situation been reversed, Stiles would have dropped everything to help Scott. He always did. He probably always would, even though his best friend was an asshole.

Unfortunately Scott had driven off into the night and Stiles had been forced to walk this same route, dripping small rivulets of pool water and shivering in the cool night air the whole way. His muscles had felt like gelatin after struggling to keep himself and the sourwolf afloat, the same ache making his movements today slow and shaky, and even now his throat felt scratchy and irritated from swallowing so much chlorinated water.

It was disappointing for the most part, that Stiles could be so easily forgotten. He was an afterthought, easily discarded at times, and as much as that feeling hurt, Stiles just felt tired. He was tired of getting caught in the middle of something and feeling helpless, tired of being nothing more than an extra consideration to his closest friend, and he was tired of being forgotten by everyone else.

Stiles sighed deeply and tried to shake off the heavy thoughts as he navigated his way through the quiet streets, wishing he owned another mode of transportation until he could get his baby back. His jeep was indefinitely idled on the Beacon County impound lot as evidence in an ongoing investigation though, so that was a no-go, but maybe he could invest in a bicycle or a scooter? He would have probably had his baby back already had it not been for the fact that paralytic toxins had been discovered during the autopsy of the mechanic, thus leading the authorities to rightly conclude his death had been a murder and not an accident.

It was a bit of a hike from the school to the Stilinski house, but considering Stiles never actually got any field time in lacrosse and his own idea of working out was walking down the stairs to retrieve a handful of peanut butter pretzels and a can of carbonated awesomeness, he figured he could use the exercise. His dad had offered him rides to and from school, but Stiles knew it was out of his way and besides, walking wasn’t that big of a deal. It was surprisingly relaxing even, providing that he stopped tripping over thin air every once in a while.

Stiles entered the house tiredly after the long, but peaceful walk.

The cruiser was still parked in the driveway, so he knew his father was home. It was the first afternoon in almost four days that the man was here. He was almost always gone these days, which was starting to become a disappointing though expected occurrence. It was always a pleasant surprise when his father was home… well, except when Stiles was harboring fugitive werewolves in his bedroom, but thankfully that hadn’t happened in a couple of weeks since Derek had been officially exonerated.

The sheriff gave him an odd look when he entered the kitchen, his eyebrows rising slightly. “Did practice end early today?”

Stiles smiled at him haltingly, probably looking very much like a small child who had just been caught doing something naughty. His father only raised his eyebrows higher, giving him the same look he did when Stiles had forgotten to clear his browser history after researching unspeakable things like body farms or when his dad had signed for and opened the shipment of several different varieties of monkshood he’d ordered a few weeks ago from an occult store.

The look was both questioning and knowing, not to mention uncomfortable, which was a very frightening combination indeed. “… Uh…” Stiles slid his heavy book bag off his shoulder, slouching down into a seat with a sheepish expression. “Yes?” He inwardly winced at the look he got in return, but only shrugged in response. “For me it did. It’s not like I’m there for anything except to run water bottles or towels to the rest of the team. Besides, my head is killing me.”

“Did you already take something for it?”

Though it had been an excuse, Stiles was actually telling the truth. He really did have a headache, a very bad one that had been plaguing him for days. It was a lot milder today, not quite bordering on the migraine it had been previously, but still a throbbing pressure. He suspected that it was a lingering side effect of the toxic goo he had encountered, considering that there was still some lingering numbness in his hands and arms, which made it very difficult to write notes in earlier class.

What a time not to have super healing powers.

It had taken Derek a little over two hours to completely overcome the paralytic, and that whammy had been introduced directly into his bloodstream via the long claws. Stiles, on the other hand, had only gotten a few drops of it on his hand and had been paralyzed for half an hour, synapses misfiring like bad bottle rockets in his skull that just made his brain hurt, and hardly had any feeling in his extremities for days.

Stiles gave the man a winning smile, though it was somewhat subdued. “Yeah, about an hour ago,” he nodded, rubbing at his temples.

“Good,” His dad nodded quickly. “Make sure you take more if you’re still feeling bad.”

“Will do,” he agreed readily. “Hey, you still have tonight off, right? I was thinking of making a pan of lasagna and some garlic bread for dinner, and maybe afterwards we could have a marathon of epic proportions, because it’s been a while since we’ve done that.” He was about to continue when he caught sight of the hesitant look on his father’s face. He knew the answer without having to be told. “And judging from that grimace, it totally won’t happen, probably because of work issues, and I should just order a pizza, huh?”

“Stiles—”

“No worries, pops,” Stiles grinned, pushing any disappointment he felt to the back of his mind. “I should probably get started on my homework anyway. A lot of research needs to be done and it won’t do itself, so I’ll just get to it.”

And of course, by research Stiles meant that he would completely avoid his homework since it wasn’t do for at least two more days, and instead work on decrypting the top secret bestiary he had downloaded onto his hard drive from his psychotic new principal. Or maybe browse the culinary recipes he had likewise copied, because those were some very interesting recipes for such a creepy old man. He still had no idea what language the bestiary was written in yet to even begin translating it anyway.

Already halfway up the stairs to do just that, Stiles paused when the man called his name to stop him. He bit down on his lip before he turned, his face questioning. “Yeah?”

Instead of answering right away, his father only beckoned him back into the kitchen. He went reluctantly, sitting back down in the chair with his eyebrows raised as he twiddled his thumbs. His leg jiggled nervously as he tapped his foot in waiting.

“Are you okay?”

“Awesome,” Stiles nodded. “I’m awesome, totally awesome.”

Unfortunately the man didn’t seem convinced of his awesomeness. “You seem… different,” he added inquisitively, his eyes searching. “You’ve been quiet for days… weeks even…”

Stiles pulled a face and shrugged. “Some people would consider that a relief.”

“Yeah, well some people are stupid,” his dad rebutted blithely, and Stiles snorted before he could stop himself, because those words coming from his father’s mouth were the funniest thing he’d heard in weeks. “You’re never quiet. I don’t like it. You need to tell me how to fix it, because I’m kind of lost here, kid.”

“Nothing to fix,” Stiles told him, earning himself another look for his effort. He exhaled lightly and shook his head. “Honestly, there isn’t. I mean, Scott kind of ticked me off the other night, so I guess I’ve been upset about that, especially since he has once again completely missed the whole point of why I’m mad at him… but it’ll work itself out just as it always does. Other than that, nothing new is really going on.”

“You’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

Stiles stilled briefly, his breath catching unconsciously. He had been under the impression that with the long hours at work his father hadn’t noticed the change in his sleeping habits. He winced a second later, belatedly realizing that his reaction to the observation was probably all the confirmation the man needed to know there was something wrong in that department.

“Nightmares,” he said quickly, owning up to it and hoping he wouldn’t have to elaborate much more. “I was watching horror movies the other night and it gave me the willies. You know how that genre always freaks me out, but all of those hot, unattainable women taking on ten foot giant zombies with impossibly large axes all covered in red dye, corn syrup and shredded prosthetics are irresistible to me. I can’t help but watch them—it’s an unhealthy addiction.”

It was a deflection, that’s what it was and they both knew it. Most of their conversations seemed to go down that line lately, filled with half-hearted excuses and misdirected discussion topics. Stiles felt horrible for contributing to this wide, gaping chasm between the two of them, feeling each time as if he had somehow driven a wedge in with finality. But there was no other way around this unless he wanted to get his father involved with all of this supernatural shit, which he hoped never happened.

Stiles had to keep him safe, because his father was in danger enough as it was being the sheriff. For years Stiles had carefully monitored all of the dispatch radio chatter, had dedicated hours to memorizing all of the different police codes that abbreviated specific crimes, incidents, or instruction so he knew what it meant when it came over on the scanner. He listened and waited, all the while dreading that someone would contact him with the news that something bad had happened to his father while on a call.

Ignorance was the best protection in this instance. Just look at what happened once Stiles had known the truth about werewolves and hunters and cryptic veterinarians: he had been hunted by revenge seeking monsters, witnessed countless deaths, fearing for the life of everyone around him, and he was haunted by unescapable nightmares. Every day was a new battle. His father was just like him though. He would feel this same need to protect everyone, especially once he knew of Stiles’ involvement in it all… and it could get him killed.

“Okay,” his father nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. “… You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Stiles swallowed the guilty thickness lodged in his throat and nodded his head slightly. “Yeah, dad,” he said. “Of course I do.”

“Anything you’re going through, you can tell me about it,” he added gently, looking strangely earnest. “I won’t judge you or love you any less for anything. You can come to me if you’re having trouble at school, if you and Scott are fighting, or if you are just having girl trouble… or boy trouble.” He quickly held his hand up against the automatic protest that his works provoked. “Or if you want to tell me the truth about what’s been going on with you for the past three months.”

Stiles averted his eyes and stared down at his hands unsurely. “You’re going to be late for work.” He heard a heavy sigh as his father stood, a warm hand settling on his shoulder a second later. He heard a quiet farewell and a few moments later the front door opened and shut as his father left, leaving him feeling miserable and alone.

Moments ticked by in silence as Stiles sat there, listening to the sound of the cruiser pulling out of the driveway. He released a long breath and stood reluctantly to make his way up the stairs. He threw himself down onto his bed the moment he was in his room and then buried his face into his pillow.

No pizza or lasagna or anything tonight. His appetite, what little there had been for the first time today, had diminished into nothing. His stomach was a mass of knots now and his insides rolled up and twisted. Stiles hated this. He hated lying, he hated the secrecy, and he was beginning to hate that he had to pretend to be fine when he felt like he was falling apart.

“Trying to suffocate yourself?” a low, female voice that was all too recognizable asked coyly. “No? Too bad?”

Stiles sighed again. It was the same voice that more recently preceded violence in some manner, usually to Stiles in particularly. Erica Reyes just seemed to take an unusual amount of pleasure in his misery unfortunately and now she had apparently taken to breaking into his own home to inflict it. He felt too tired to deal with this right now. He opened his eyes reluctantly, spotting her perched on his desk.

“What do you want, Erica?” he asked sullenly.

“Someone sounds very unhappy to see me,” the girl said, a dark smile painted on her red lips as she idly looked through the book on werewolf lore he had forgotten to put away. It was a thick tome, one that focused less on the sensationalized outlook on werewolves and more on the mythology behind them. She seemed highly amused as she read some of it, her golden curls bouncing as she shook her head with a scoff. “Fine literature you have here. Too bad none of it is actually true.”

“Some of it is,” Stiles countered with a huff, frowning at her as he unwillingly tried to sit upright. His arms were still being uncooperative, but he managed it after a moment, sitting on the bed as he watched her warily. “I only wanted it for the passage on remedies and poisons. I already know the one about using the ashes of Aconitum Noveboracense to reverse any adverse effects from firsthand experience, so it is probably the most accurate book out of the ones I’ve been able to find.”

“Aconitum Nove… what?” Erica wrinkled her nose. “What is that?

“Monkshood?” Stiles tried. “Wolfsbane? You know, the little flower that can make even the strongest werewolf spew black poison and smell like death? It can rot your insides within a short span of forty-eight hours. Amputation is one remedy, but only if the poison doesn’t reach your heart, because then you’re just screwed. The fact that you don’t know this makes me question your wolfiness. Hey, do you know if your limbs grow back if severed? I always meant to ask Derek that, but he probably wouldn’t have answered me anyway.”

Erica stared at him blankly for a long moment of incomprehension; she rolled her eyes then, slamming the book closed loudly before she dropped it back onto his desk. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward in a move that showed off her admittedly impressive cleavage… which, unfortunately, did nothing for him now that Stiles knew what a monumental bitch she was. He rubbed his hand over his head tiredly.

“Why are you here?” he asked again.

“Derek wants to talk to you,” Erica said, standing abruptly. He rose to his feet in an instant as she approached, watching her warily. She came to a stop so close to him that he could feel the soft curves of her breasts pressed against his chest. “Still trying to avoid staring?”

“God, seriously?” Stiles bit out, rolling his eyes. He nudged her out of the way and sidestepped to hive himself some breathing space. “Yes, Erica, you have nice breasts, but frankly, I’ve seen better, so no, I’m not trying to avoid staring at them, I just don’t _want_ to look at them!”

Erica gave him a withering look, the sudden flex of her hand drawing his attention to the long set of claws that had erupted from her nail beds. Shit. He backed away quickly as she drew near, pressing his back against the wall when he ran out of room to move. She crowded him, closing the distance without touching this time, but close enough still that he could practically feel the anger pouring off of her.

“Is that so?” she asked coolly, extending her hand to the side of his neck. The sharp curve of her claws pressed against his skin, her thumb rubbing a circle against the tender, vulnerable flesh in a way that sent a trill of fear down his spine. “Does this have anything to do with the… what was it?” Her expression darkened gleefully; she clearly took way too much enjoyment from this. “ _Boy_ trouble you’re having?”

Stiles glared at her, his jaw tensing, but he could not think of a witty comeback. Just how long had she been listening?

Erica laughed a cruel laugh at his silence. “Aw, no wonder you smell so disinterested,” she cooed. “Can’t get it up?” She laughed again before withdrawing, reaching between her aforementioned impressive cleavage. The blond tucked the folded-up piece of paper she retrieved in the waistband of his jeans, letting her claws scratch him just enough to draw blood to the surface without actually breaking the skin. “Go to that address after school tomorrow, and don’t be late Stilinski.” She grinned over her shoulder as she turned around. “My alpha doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Stiles knew he would probably regret provoking her before the words even left his mouth, but he was tired, cranky, and perhaps a bit disappointed. “It doesn’t change anything.” She paused by the open window, turning slightly, though obviously conscious enough that it showed just how shapely her figure was in the glow of the evening light. Anyone who had ever said that Lydia Martin was narcissistic and vain had obviously never met Erica post-bite, because she took the cake in his book.

“What are you blathering on about now?”

“All of your new wolfish attributes,” he said with a shrug. “It doesn’t change anything.” She rolled her eyes, her mouth opening, probably to argue with him, but he wasn’t quite finished yet. He wanted to see if there was still a person beneath her new exterior. “It might change your physiology, granted. Your senses are heightened, you might be more agile than you ever thought possible, and you can heal from probably most wounds that would leave anyone else crippled.”

Erica was completely apathetic, raising her eyebrow. “Wow. Compelling argument,” she deadpanned. “I’m going to go now.”

Stiles ignored her interruption, continuing on as if she had not spoken at all. “But it doesn’t change who you are. You might go a bit crazy during your first full moon, but even then, that is only one night. So this whole persona, this bitchy façade with the skanky shirts and the low-cut tops, the coldhearted wolf who is cruel, seductive, and violent… that isn’t who you are.”

“Oh really?” Erica asked, her smile now sickly sweet. Her eyes flashed a dangerously, setting off all of the little self-preservation alarm bells in his mind, especially when she began to advance. Her eyes were different now, a golden hue now surrounding her pupil while the rest of the iris stayed dark brown. She stopped once she was in his face again. “How do you know that this isn’t who I always was?”

“… I don’t.”

“Exactly,” she hissed, running her extended claws down the side of his arm. “No one knows who I am, because none of you ever bothered to find out before.”

Stiles slowly shook his head. “That’s not true,” he denied quietly. “Or have you completely forgotten every time I tried to befriend you? I invited you to lunch almost every week in middle school. I asked you to hang out or to go bowling with me last year because Scott completely sucked at bowling before he was turned and I knew you rocked at it and could at least give me some decent competition. I tried to find out who you were, but every time I so much as looked at you, you told me to take a hike.”

“Oh please,” Erica scoffed harshly, her canines looking a bit sharper than before. She poked him in the chest, the sharp tips of her claws placing enough pressure on him to actually hurt instead of just make his skin crawl. “Every time you approached me, I knew what you were thinking. As if you ever _actually_ wanted to be my friend. You can’t lie to me, Stilinski. You just pitied me, the poor little epileptic with no friends. You just wanted to look like a nice guy to everyone else because you’re the sheriff’s son, and so you could pretend that you aren’t as pathetic and mean as they all are.”

Stiles sighed. “You’re right,” he said simply.

Erica seemed taken aback, her eyebrows drawing together as her transformation completely halted and reversed in her shock; her nails smoothed out and her teeth became blunt once more, her eyes now their usual dark brown and shining with a unsatisfactory mixture of hurt and triumph. She drew her hands away, taking a step back, seemingly unable to come up with a response.

“You’re right,” he repeated, staring her straight in the eyes. “I really can’t lie to you. No one can ever lie to you again, in fact, at least without you knowing. It is part of the whole werewolf package, that whole inert polygraph thing. You can hear my heartbeat loud and clear now, so I want you to listen to me, Erica, and tell me if I’m lying to you.” Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, but she said nothing in protest. “I never pitied you.”

“You’re lying!” she snapped immediately, the same hurt and triumph present.

“I never pitied you.”

Erica growled at him. “Stop lying.”

“Not until now,” Stiles finished, and she drew back as if he had physical struck her. He felt a pang of regret as he met her eyes. He gave her just a moment to consider his words before he continued. “I worried for you when you would sit alone. I actually punched Jackson Whittemore in the face back in fifth grade when he made fun of you, which resulted in a lifelong tormentor for me, but I never regretted it. I used to bake cookies and deliver them to your house, with specific instructions to your mother not to tell you who they were from since you sort of hated me.”

Erica took another step back even though Stiles did not advance on her as she had him. She had her hands crossed over her chest now, her posture less confident and more timid. He thought he saw a bit of the old Erica shine through the new tough exterior she seemed to have wrapped herself in though. This hadn’t been what he was aiming for, but at least it proved that she was still there. This was the same girl who had glowed with delight in second grade when Stiles had given her a Catwoman Valentine, the same girl who defiantly told him off for interfering when someone had teased her about a seizure… the same girl who had given him an embarrassed smile when they were chosen to climb that wall in gym just two weeks ago.

“Scott accused me more than once of having a crush on you,” Stiles admitted, which caused her eyes to widen in a way he couldn’t understand. “I honestly just wanted to be your friend though… I thought we could have been great friends.” He studied her, knowing that while he may have been getting through in the beginning, nothing he could say would sway her. She was now more determined than ever to push him away. He could see it in her eyes, in her gait, the moment she ruthlessly crushed any aspect of her old personality down and fully donned the she-wolf armor.

“You thought wrong,” she said coldly, her body almost vibrating with the obvious need to shift. He could almost hear her heartbeat rising with her anger from where he stood. “This is who I am, Stilinski.” And as if to emphasize her point, Erica was in front of him in the blink of an eye. She snarled and then drew her balled up fist back, letting it fly roughly into his stomach.

Stiles hit the wall hard from the force of the blow. He winced as his lip caught on his teeth, splitting the flesh open. He had always been squeamish around blood and the metallic tang of it on his tongue was almost enough to make him gag, nausea rolling through his stomach. He saw her hand move out of the corner of his eye and couldn’t contain his instinctive flinch away, but she had only been lowering it.

“Then I’m glad,” he said softly, pained and tired, and just _done._ He lifted his head just enough to watch her begin to retreat. She paused again, her head turning slightly in acknowledgement of his words, but not all the way around.

“About what?”

“… That you never accepted my friendship,” Stiles exhaled shakily, one hand pressed against the bruise already forming on his side. “Because now I can see that I totally misjudged you from the start. I’m glad that you let me see you for who you really were before I let myself get invested in actually being friends with someone like you.”

The words might not have included anything biting or cruel, but they were brutally honest and Stiles had a feeling that they had cut just the same. He swallowed thickly, his throat feeling very constricted as he saw her confidence falter completely. She curled in around herself for a moment and hovered in front of the window before launching herself out. He stood afterwards and approached the window himself, spotting her golden curls in distance.

“And Reyes,” Stiles added quietly, using her surname instead of her given. It was the first time he had ever addressed her so formally, so distantly, in all the time he had known her. Her whole body seized in an instant, almost as if she were expecting him to deliver a physical blow despite how far away she was. “Tell Derek and the rest of your little wolf pack that if any of you enter my home unannounced and uninvited again… it will not be a pleasant encounter and you will regret it.”

Erica nodded slightly before she disappeared into the woods.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: January 2, 2012 by TamIsMyFather


	2. Failsafe Mechanism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles could never, ever know. He would never live down the humiliation if that talkative, annoying, loud, mouthy brat found out that he had inadvertently become the failsafe mechanism that kept the wolf calm.

### Failsafe Mechanism

Everything had become so overwhelming that there were often times his mind was absent while his body was driven by pure instinct, and he was forced to deal with the aftermath be it for better or worse. Derek Hale had never thought he could possibly hate anyone more than he hated Kate Argent. She was the woman had seduced him, who had used him, and who had devastated his family and his life.

How could he hate his own uncle more than her?

It was never meant to be this way. He might not have been the youngest werewolf in the pack, but Derek had been a far off thought when it came to who would inevitably inherit the position of alpha from his mother. He had Laura ahead of him and Paul before her, so it had never even occurred to him that he would ever have to deal with all of these responsibilities.

Kate had started a whole chain of events by murdering them all—his mother, his father, his siblings… it had just been Derek and Laura, and what was left of Peter who lay comatose in the hospital, after her treachery. It had taken a long time for the ashes to settle and for a while it had worked with just the two of them. Neither Laura nor Derek had been particularly happy, but they had been comfortable for a time.

Laura had died though, slain by Peter who inherited her abilities, and then her body was found by hunters who proceeded to mutilate it. It had taken just a few well-placed words for Derek to cling to the idea that Peter had done it by accident. He had tried to ignore the madness when they were first reunited, even knowing just how manipulative his uncle could be. When he allowed himself to hope that he was not as alone as he felt, it was easy to push reason and logic aside in order to feel some semblance of happiness.

Peter had been feral though. His mind had been corrupted by years of internal agony, by the loss of pack ties to anchor him to his human side. He had succumbed entirely to his instincts and a vendetta. Derek had willfully ignored it at first, but he had been forced to acknowledge that his uncle was just too far gone when the man had ordered the death of Jackson Whittemore.

Murdering innocent, misguided boys went against everything the Hale Pack had once stood for. Derek had been reluctant to cut his ties with the last remnants of his family, but in the end he had done what he felt was right by surrendering himself to the hunters and allowing Scott to take Jackson to safety. He might have been captured afterwards and tortured, though Derek would never regret that decision.

When everything had been all said and done, Derek had been the one to free his uncle from this. Free him from a fate that was worse than death, a fate he would never with upon anyone. Derek feared he may have lost a bit of himself that night too, in taking his uncles life and becoming the alpha in his place. It was no wonder that Peter had lost his humanity when it was all Derek could do not to let the same kind of madness overtake him.

Derek often felt as if he were going everywhere at once with no way to contain it. He could hardly recall a time when he had felt so utterly helpless, so out of control. Surely not since his youth, and even then, he’d had the guidance of his parents to push back those more brazen animal instincts and learned how to harness it. Now though, he was completely alone with no one to teach him how to control this new drive that was so overpowering.

It was nothing he had ever experienced before, but Derek likened it to how humans might feel when their bodies were intoxicated with drugs or alcohol. He had never felt more in tuned with the world around him, closer to being an animal than human. His senses and abilities were increased tenfold; he could smell better, see better, hear better, taste and even feel everything with a heightened capacity that made his blood feel warm and satisfied in a way he had never thought possible before.

Unfortunately not everything about this situation was positive. Along with the increased attunement to the heightened abilities, the instincts that came with them were a struggle to contain. He could feel his eyes bleed red at even just the smallest twinge of annoyance, his mouth salivating with the urge to strengthen the numbers throughout the pack. His whole body surged with a foreign need to make everyone around him, especially those he considered _his_ , submit to his will.

It was intoxicating; it was dangerous.

Derek had barely been holding on to any semblance of sanity for weeks, and unfortunately, it was his new pack that was taking the brunt of his temper when he was unable to hold onto himself. He felt as if he had ruined their lives. He honestly believed the bite was a gift, because it was, no matter what that idiot child Scott McCall believed, but he never should have bit any of them.

It was like going to sleep and waking up from a dream, only to discover that it was all too real and now he had three adolescent wolves, all still riding on the freeing hype of the transformation when he could hardly take care of himself. Had he been in his right mind, Derek would have probably chosen more grounded people to build his own back, because not just anyone had the correct mentality to become a wolf.

Even then Derek would have rather waited until he was in better control of himself before offering to bring anyone else into the fold. The urges to form a pack, however, to replenish the ranks… it had just been too strong for him to ignore. And now… now he was surrounded by a bunch of teenagers who needed him. They looked to him for answers, ones that he didn’t have… who reeked of honest fear whenever he lost his temper.

Derek could not begrudge their fear of him. He had never felt quite like the monsters the hunters proclaimed him and his kind to be until just the other day. He could barely even recall what had happened, but he would never forget the sickening sound of bones breaking when he had wrenched Isaac’s arm and twisted it without remorse. He regretted it the moment he realized what he had done, guilt lodging itself deep within his chest as the scent of pain and betrayal permeated the air.

Isaac Lahey had been freed from one tormentor in his abusive father only for Derek to take his place. He had broken the fragile trust that had been gradually building between them with one horrific act of violence, something he wondered if he could ever possibly earn back. Derek feared that he may already be losing himself to the same madness that had taken his uncle, the madness that had swept away the ability to recognize family or pack from their enemies.

With everything in him, Derek would not allow that to become his fate. He would fight it; he would fight it harder than ever before to make sure he never lost control like that again. He was fighting it right now, extending his senses throughout the warehouse: he listened absently to his pack as they went through the exercises he had taught them, but his true focus was centered beyond the walls and further down the road.

“Can you believe he’s late?”

Derek suppressed the instinctual need to growl in reprimand as Erica violated his order to remain quiet. Her voice was nothing more than a mere whisper, but since he could probably hear a butterfly flap its wings over three miles away right now, she may as well have been screaming directly into his ears. He considered it a personal victory when he contained the urge to punish her for it.

“I told him not to be late,” she continued, huffing and obviously punching the makeshift bag that had been assembled to exert their aggression.

Erica Reyes was turning out to be more willful than he anticipated. She had taken to the transformation with too much gusto, allowing the rush of her new abilities to go to her head. He had been hoping that the skirmish between her, Isaac, and McCall in the ice rink would have shown her that she wasn’t invulnerable, but if anything it had only made her more determined to prove that she was better than everyone else.

“Shut up, Erica,” Isaac snapped at her quietly in reply. He was still just as devoted as before, despite what had transpired the other day, and just to hear him still obeying orders made the guilt of hurting him almost unbearable. “We’re supposed to be training, not running our mouths.”

“I _want_ to run my mouth,” she said brazenly, her voice tinged with innuendo.

Boyd released a rumbling laugh at her words. “By all means, go ahead,” he said. “We’d love to see you get thrown on your ass again.” He was still quiet around Derek, but Boyd seemed to be comfortable enough to chat with the other two on occasion. He was probably the best suited for this life. He was a bit more levelheaded and took the time to feel things out before reacting, but only time would tell for sure.

Deciding to overlook the violation of his orders and let them banter unhindered for now, Derek instead focused his attention elsewhere. It barely took any effort at all to pinpoint the sound he was searching for, but he still poured the majority of his effort into just listening to a rhythmic _thump, thump,_ concentrating on it as he pushed everything else away.

All at once the world was blissfully quiet, save for that one sound. He had discovered this technique purely by accident, and while Derek would vehemently deny it to his dying day, he was grateful that he had been paralyzed from the neck down the other day. Who would have thought that the inspiration for his new method of control would come while he was stranded in eight feet of water?

The steady thrum of the familiar heartbeat had a surprising calming effect on him, especially when the beat of the heart was calm as well. He never would have thought to concentrate on someone else like this now, not when everyone important to him was gone and there was no one really left to anchor himself to, but it worked just the same to push down the aggressive instincts.

Being immobilized for over two hours had given him a lot of time to think and nearly dying for the second time in two months had really given him some perspective, but Stiles could never know about this.  Derek would never live down the humiliation if that talkative brat ever found out that he had inadvertently become the failsafe mechanism that kept the wolf calm.

Out of all the people in Beacon Hills, it just had to be _him._

Derek had been utterly helpless in that pool. He had been forced to rely on and trust that Stiles would keep him from going under. He had not felt vindicated in his mistrust when he had been slowly sinking to the bottom of the pool. He was not a trusting person, hadn’t been for a long time, but there had been a sense of betrayal when he had first realized that Stiles had let him go and his head had submerged.

Beneath the water Derek could only stare above him as the overly chlorinated water stung his eyes, listening to the muted sloshing on the surface and the frantic beat of a heart that was not his own. He was anxious at first, but he soon closed his eyes, resigned to his fate, and listened. He had felt surreal and unbelievably calm, despite the slow burn filling his lungs as his body demanded oxygen.

For the first time since he had become the alpha, he had been at peace.

Derek had not trusted the teenager to keep word, had even denied trusting the boy at all… something that made him feel a bit ashamed when his head had broken the surface again and he had filled his lungs greedily. He had been expecting to drown that day, for the burning in his chest to claim him, but… Stiles never failed to surprise him.

It made no sense whatsoever.

Stiles Stilinski was the last person that Derek would have ever chosen to ground himself. He was annoyingly loud and audaciously sarcastic, and Derek had come close to punching him on more than one occasion for being so infuriating. He was an unpredictable entity, an uncertainty no matter the circumstance, but for all of his loud, unending sarcastic comments and the inquisitive ramblings, the teenager was remarkably loyal.

… Even to people who didn’t deserve such devotion.

For another thirty minutes that night, Stiles had done his best to hold them above water, struggling to keep them both alive. He had been surprisingly quiet after retrieving him from the bottom of the pool, almost subdued even, but Derek had barely spared it in any thought at the time because he had been too blindsided by his revelation and too invested in concentrating on the heartbeat beside him; it was a frantic sound, too quick with adrenalin, but it was steady… and it made him steady.

In time Derek would need to find a suitable method to replace this one; he could not rely on the steady heartbeat of a teenager to aid him forever. Stiles was only what? Sixteen? In just a few short years, the boy would be off to college and out of this town. Derek would probably never see him again after that, but for now, with this kanima beast on the prowl and the hunters out declaring war on wolfkind, he was contented to have even a few moments of peace.

The heartbeat now was quiet and soothing, slowly approaching the beaten down, decrepit warehouse that Derek and his new pack had taken up residence in. He had taken to avoiding the poverty on the preserve after first smelling the foreign stench of metal, grease and poison; the hunters had set traps around and in his home, and were hiding out in the burnt shell just waiting for him to return. Hopefully they would not have to stay in this place much longer, but admittedly the alternative was just as bad.

Derek was not quite sure just how long he sat there, just listening as the heartbeat drew closer to the warehouse, but he thought it took much longer than it should have. He could not really judge the time though, because he felt lethargic, calm and focused now. He stood as soon as he heard the shuffling feet just outside, his eyes flashing open when he knew the others had realized that the boy had finally arrived.

Before Stiles even entered the building, the wolf knew something was wrong with the kid. His scent was off—there was the ever present mix of chemicals from medications beneath his skin, of cheap soaps and detergents and the normal abundance of hormones that seemed to permeate the air around most growing teenagers. But he also smelled of exhaustion, of more stress than usual, and a stale sort of anxiety.

Perhaps most overpowering of all, Stiles smelled of _wolfsbane._

It was such a strange combination of scents that it made Derek’s sensitive nose twitch, his lips pulling back into a silent snarl. He wanted to be angry at the audacity the kid had to bring poison into his presence, to dare to bring it into the place where his pack dwelled… but it was quite the clever move, taking measures of protection before walking directly into the heart of the wolves’ den.

It made Derek wonder what other measures the boy might have taken. The absurdity of the threat Erica relayed to him last night made so much more sense now though. Stiles had not been bluffing about retaliation should they enter his house uninvited again. He would resort to this, to forcing them out of his home if they went there without his permission.

The scent of the wolfsbane was subtle, and mixed with other things that were both fragrant and offensive, the other three did not recognize the threat and they continued to wait alertly for the newcomer. Even if they did understand what wolfsbane was, it would only begin to irritate after prolonged exposure, so they would be fine as long as they kept their distance and this all wrapped up quickly.

Derek entered the main room, watching as the boy stumbled in. He was looking around curiously, taking in the dusty walls, the grimy windows, and the exposed, rusted pipework and railing with a slight frown. Stiles took a moment to acknowledge Boyd and Isaac with a silent nod of his head, rising an eyebrow at them, but he seemed to overlook Erica completely save for a wary glance.

“’Sup,” he said, jerking his head up slightly, hands buried in his pockets.

Erica clearly did not like being ignored, because she was the first to respond. “I told you yesterday, my alpha doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” She snapped at him, crossing her arms over her chest as she narrowed her eyes at him.

Stiles only rolled his eyes in return. “Bite me.”

Erica bared her teeth angrily, her claws out in an instant, and she took a half-step forward as if to attack, but Isaac grabbed her arm and gave the other boy a wide-eyed stare, as if he could not believe that he had actually said that. Boyd was obviously having a difficult time containing his laughter, watching the proceedings from near the stairs, but not interfering.

Derek, however, felt his eyes burn red at the blatant invitation. It was not a good idea to provoke an unstable alpha like that, and his disapproving growl had his three wolves giving him an anxious stare as he moved closer. He glared at Stiles, idly wondering if the boy had any shred of self-preservation in his body.

“Hey there, Sourwolf,” Stiles said with a jaunty wave, not at all cowed by the growl or the glare, though there was a touch of weary apprehension in his scent. “Good to see you too. Really cool place you have here. No, really, it is. The actual walls are a nice touch.”

Derek gritted his teeth in frustration. He honestly had no idea if the boy was lying or not, because Stiles had a tendency to mix truth with the lies, omitting crucial details, which made it extraordinarily difficult to distinguish _anything_. It was only every once in a while that he could actually differentiate a real lie out of the nonsense that spewed out of his mouth so casually.

“So, what did you want?” Stiles questioned undeterred, his voice full of curiosity. He slid on a half-smirk, batting his eyelashes ridiculously. “Or did you just miss me?” The smirk drew attention to the thin cut on his lip, however, and all thought conducting a thorough investigation fled in an instant.

“What happened to your face?” Derek demanded, frowning at the small injury. He had a suspicion of who was responsible for it, especially since the wound was only a day old. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, his jaw tight with tension as the boy gave him a blank stare.

The silence was more telling than words.

“Erica,” Derek bit out, turning to her immediately. She stiffened at the anger in his tone, her eyes going wide with unease. He could smell the sharp, bitter scent of guilt in the air as she curled in on herself slightly. “What did you do?”

“I ran into a wall,” the boy interjected.

Derek almost wanted to roll his eyes at the excuse. “What?”

“Oh, you know,” Stiles shrugged with a careless smile, one that belied the sudden spike of nervousness in his scent. “I ran into a wall and split my lip. Now I look all kinds of badass, like I just got into a fight. Makes me look manly.”

No flutter, no blip. His heart was steady.

Derek knew better. “Erica?”

“I…” the girl stuttered, unable to lie to him.

“You…?”

Erica took a hasty step back when he began to advance upon her. “I… I punched him,” she admitted fearfully, her voice barely above a whisper. She took another step back, eventually running into a cement column, with nowhere else to go. “It was only—” She cut herself off with wide eyes, baring her throat submissively with a whimper at his growl.

“Dude,” Stiles said, his voice sounding far away. “You look like you’re about to kill her with the laser eyes. I don’t like her much either, but this would look really bad on my dad’s annual report, because seriously, way too many murders this year.”

Derek took a calming breath, curling his fingers into his palms. He was not happy to discover that Erica had allowed her own temper to get ahold of her. It was perhaps a bit hypocritical, but at least he knew his own strength. Her punching the human, for whatever reasons, could have left lasting damage that could quite possibly be fatal.

“I’m sorry,” Erica whimpered, her body trembling, and her eyes shining. “I’m sorry…” She could have killed Stiles with that punch; her behavior was unacceptable.

Derek tensed as he felt the hand fall on his back, every muscle in his body drawn taut. He glanced over his shoulder as the hand balled into a fist in his white shirt and gave the offending appendage a pointed look.

“You’re scaring the children,” Stiles pointed out evenly, his eyebrows drawn together in bewilderment. But the heartbeat… the rhythm had changed, showing just how anxious the boy was becoming. “I mean, dude… is it that time of the month already?”

Derek breathed out heavily through his nose at the question, the red vestiges fading from his eyes completely as he gave the human a look of disbelief. “Stiles,” he said firmly, appeased when the boy gave a nervous twitch and withdrew his hand quickly.

“I’m not touching you,” Stiles said, hands held up in surrender. “So, as entertaining as this—” He gestured wildly between Derek and Erica. “—is, you should probably tell me why I’m here, because I have a ton of research to do tonight, a three page essay due tomorrow, and I’m really too tired to deal with this drama for much longer.”

As if to confirm his words, Stiles moved a fist in front of his mouth, but it did little to conceal the wide yawn that escaped him. His eyes fluttered closed briefly, his stance slackening so much that it looked as if he may actually collapse onto the floor at any moment. He really did look exhausted.

Derek absently wondered about the fatigue, but he had more pressing matters to discuss. “You’re here because you are going to be bait,” he said evenly, watching as those brown eyes widened briefly before the head shot up. He met the incredulous expression calmly.

“Bait?” Stiles repeated lowly. “For what? Scott? Because he is totally on board with the working together thing, last time I checked. In fact, I’m almost positive it was _his_ idea.”

“No,” Derek shook his head. “Not Scott.”

Stiles gave him a floundering look, confusion etched deeply into his features. It barely took ten seconds later for a look of realization to flash across his face. There was a hurt sort of look present as well, but it faded within moments to be replaced by the stubborn set of his jaw.

“You think it’s after me.”

Derek nodded slowly. “One attack with you near was easy to pass off as chance, but twice in the same number of days is too much of a coincidence,” he rationalized. “It also had every opportunity to kill Erica the other night. She was paralyzed and passed out on the floor… but instead, the kanima ignored her completely.”

“So you think it only came after you because it was after me?” Stiles asked nervously, his hands twitching oddly by his side. He shook them out, his fingers flexing and shaking, eyes glancing around at the other three as if they might deny it. “… Right. Okay, yeah, let’s say that you’re right… then what the hell does it want with me?”

“I don’t know yet,” Derek said truthfully, tipping his head to the side. “So why don’t you tell us again everything that happened at the mechanic’s garage… and this time,” He raised his eyes challengingly, perhaps even a bit threateningly. “Don’t leave out any details.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited January 2, 2013 by TamIsMyFather


	3. Tolerable Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was not as uncomfortable as he would have thought, but neither was it very companionable. Tolerant, that's what it was. It was a tolerable silence.

### Tolerable Silence

Stiles closed his eyes against the horrific image of the mechanic, the memory drawn to the surface despite his numerous attempts to desperately bury it deep within the farthest reaches of his mind. He could still hear the pleading in his ears, the loud _clang_ and _crunch_ as the cries for help fell silent.

It made his chest hurt to remember, his hands fisting into balls at his sides as nausea rolled through his stomach. He could almost feel that same terror flood his veins as he could do nothing but close his eyes and let it happen, fingertips tingling as a reminder of how he had been helpless to stop it, and he quickly shoved his hands into his pockets again to hide the tremors.

And Derek wanted him to verbalize everything that had been keeping him up for the past ninety-six hours? He had been trying so hard to avoid even thinking of it, so the last thing he Stiles wanted to do was talk about it. Even just _thinking_ about talking about what happened made his eyes burn, almost as if tears wanted to escape despite his best efforts.

Derek had all he needed. He knew what the creature looked like, had even gotten a close up of it himself that night at the pool, and the werewolf had even deduced what the beast was. So why was he asking so much of him? He already knew Derek had no trust in him and probably thought he was nothing more than an annoyance and a threat to his secret, but Stiles had thought they had an understanding.

If not a mutual trust, then at least a mutual respect.

Stiles felt as if his throat were constricting, his vision blurring against the odd pang of hurt he felt. How had this even become his life? He wanted to be angry that the only time people seemed to talk to him anymore was when they wanted something from him. He had accepted long ago that he was in this whole situation for life, because Scott was his best friend and Stiles knew he was at least partly responsible for what he was now, but it was beginning to feel as though all of them only kept him around for favors.

“Stiles,” Derek said evenly.

Eyes opening in consternation at the impatient tone, Stiles figured patience obviously thin if the ring of glowing, bright red around his pupils were any indication. He ran his tongue over the front of his teeth as he weighed his options. The tension was almost tangible in the air, making it thick and cloying, difficult to breath in, but no one moved. The other three seemed a bit uneasy by his noncompliance, but they remained still, not interfering unless they were told to.

Hands still buried deep in his pockets where his fingers were curled around the object attached to his keychain, Stiles fingered the trigger hesitantly. It had been ridiculously easy to jury-rig his own refill for the can of pepper spray he always had on him. His father made him keep it, the man refusing to allow him a real weapon unless they were in a safe environment and under watchful eyes, but it worked in his favor.

Stiles had felt slightly more secure knowing that he had a way to incapacitate them should the need arise. He doubted that they would attack him outright, but the mixture of three different varieties of wolfsbane and the mace made him feel less vulnerable in their presence even though he had no idea if it would actually work.

It would spray, of course, though that was only the practical application, but that didn’t mean it would actually ward them off. At least Stiles had the taser in his other pocket for backup, but really, did wanting to hold his tongue for once actually warrant wolfsbane in the face or a couple thousand volts of electricity? He absently sucked on the wound on his lip, contemplating just running away, but he doubted he would get very far.

“Stiles!” Derek barked out at the continued silence. His eyes burned with exasperation and a hint of anger, a vibrant shade of red that was admittedly intimidating and not quite as fascinating as the effervescent shade of blue they had once been. He took a quick step forward, towering over the younger man, who, after a split moment of hesitation, reluctantly withdrew his hands defensively and held them up to halt the advance, leaving the keychain tucked away.

“Alright, fine,” Stiles said quickly, only lowering his hands once the other man stopped approaching. He released a heavy breath, hoping that doing this was not the mistake he thought it was. His teeth clenched as he scrubbed at his face to stall for a few more moments, an attempt to try and collect his scattered thoughts. “How much do you know?”

Derek seemed momentarily appeased, his eyes returning to their normal pale green as he tilted his head. “Just that the autopsy shows that the mechanic was paralyzed by an unidentified toxin when he died, what you said on the police report, and what you told us the other night.”

“How did you get the police report?” Stiles questioned, only to realize that the stood just a few feet away from him. Isaac Lahey may have had slightly below average grades in most subjects, but he was extraordinarily good with computers. He shook off the question, eyes flashing to where the other boy stood, looking shyly smug. “Never mind… so, as you’ve probably guessed, most of my official statement was a big fat lie.”

“You think?” Erica said snidely.

Stiles gave her a harsh look at the interruption; this was hard enough without her input. “First of all, the guy was still alive when I got there.” He let the words hang there when he noted their reactions, the widening of their eyes at the news. “I was there for a while before it happened, actually… he was the only one working, and he was trying to heckle me into paying way more than I should to get my jeep fixed—”

“Why did you need it fixed?” Derek interjected.

Stiles expelled a frustrated breath. “Why don’t you ask your vicious she-wolf that question after I’m finished? Okay? Because if you don’t let me continue this in one go, I’m walking away right now even if there is a murders snake hunting me for some mysterious reason that mundane humans like me don’t understand!”

Strangely enough, none of them said a word.

“Right, so… anyway,” he sighed, turning his head to study the wall rather than face the expectant eyes. “I got tired of arguing with him and went to go call Scott to see if he could give me a ride home. This thing, the kanima, it must have been there waiting, because when I opened the door to the lobby, the handle was smeared with this goo. I thought it was grease or some kind of residue and didn’t think anything of it, but then… I couldn’t hit the buttons on my phone.”

Stiles swallowed, pausing momentarily as his hands gave a sympathetic twitch. There was still some numbness, not prominent any longer, much less than yesterday, but it was still there, still tingling and stinging. He really envied Derek and the others for their accelerated healing right now, because he hated that he could still feel it.

“My whole body just…” He shook his head, biting down on his lip hard. “I had no idea what was happening, but when I looked up, I could see it crawling out of my jeep. It… it was just… I tried calling out to warn the guy, but it felt like I couldn’t breathe. It slashed the back of his neck, and the mechanic must have collapsed the same time I did, because he was on the floor by the time I managed to shift enough to see him.”

Stiles flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up quickly, not entirely sure how Derek had managed to get so much closer without him even noticing. He swallowed down his nerves, only becoming aware that his hands were shaking when the man slid the hand down his arm to clasp his wrist in order to still the involuntary spasms.

“It cut the hydraulics on the car lift.” He licked his lips, inhaling shakily as the memory played out vividly in his mind. He closed his eyes, wishing the images would just disappear entirely. “He was crying out for me to help him, and the damn lift moved so freaking slowly so we both could see what was going to happen…” He cleared his throat, trying to shake the hands off of him. “I tried dialing the police, but my hands… and it just…”

Stiles winced imperceptibly, the sound of bone and sinew giving way to at least five tons of pressure, like someone stepping on a bug—it rang in his ears something gruesome still. But unfortunately he was surrounded by super freaks with insanely perfect vision, so they obviously noticed. He took a long moment to just breathe, his heart pounding in his chest so loudly that he thought perhaps it was trying to burst from his body. He knew they could hear that too.

“Did it come after you?”

Stiles shook his head at the question, not entirely sure just who asked it. “Not really,” he said, blinking rapidly. “It… it was on the other side of the glass, back inside the actual garage. It knew I was there though. It approached and kind of… I don’t know, hissed at me or something, long enough that I could see it and then it just disappeared.”

“Is that it?”

“… No,” he admitted, knowing that this was only going to enforce Derek’s theory about the kanima targeting him. It was one thing that would be impossible to hide though. “The way he looked at me… it was almost as if he… recognized me.”

Derek nodded seriously, though he didn’t seem surprised. “So you think it was a male?”

“Yes. No,” Stiles shrugged tiredly. “Does it really matter what I think? It wasn’t as if I had time to lift its leg to check.”

“If we can narrow down the gender,” Derek said. “We can eliminate at least half of our suspects. Did you get any other kind of sense from it? Maybe its intentions? Or what it wanted?”

Stiles only shook his head. “No. Is that enough? Can I go home now? Because it’s getting late and it’s a pretty long walk back to my house.”

“You walked here?”

“Dad had to impound my jeep as evidence,” he replied, confused by the incredulous tone. “Since this is still an ongoing investigation, he isn’t sure when I can have it back. Not that it would run, considering the fact that the starter is ruined and apparently the exhaust system needs work too.”

Derek had a deep-seated frown on his face at the admittance. He glanced at his three evil minions, jerking his head slightly. As if by some unspoken command—perhaps via telepathy or just some kind of instinctual werewolf knowledge of what a small jerk of the head meant, because Stiles was at a loss—the three werewolves moved in unison, walking toward the only visible exit and out of sight.

Despite not knowing what had just happened, Stiles felt much more at ease with just the big bad wolf himself. His shoulders relaxed minutely now that they were alone, no longer feeling overwhelmed by the presence of too many people. It might have been a trick in the dim, dusty lighting, but for a moment, he thought he saw a hint of tension drain out of the older man as well.

“Wait here,” Derek said, though it was much more like an order.

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, maybe even throw in a couple of disobedient whines just to be problematic, but Derek had already turned around and entered a small shuttered door at the far end of the warehouse. It looked like maybe an old office, or perhaps a subway car, which made no sense at all, but who knows, maybe this used to be a place where they were building subway cars for the cities that actually needed a subway station. He would have to look it up later or something.

Teasing was just not worth it unless Stiles could actually witness that pinched, woeful and wholly irritated look in return, so he complied without a word of protest and waited. He stuffed his hands back into his pockets, partly to hide the last vestiges of tremors there, and raised an eyebrow at the horrible state of everything and the stale smell in the air that could only be achieved from years of neglect.

Derek returned wearing his customary jacket over the white shirt, a soft jingle drifting through the large room as he fiddled with his keys. “Are you coming?” He looked up expectantly, dark eyebrows rising as he made his way toward the door. “Or would you rather walk home?”

Stiles grimaced at the thought. “Hell no,” he said, following him. He felt a surge of gratefulness at the offer, but he wouldn’t be telling him that. “My extremities feel as if they’re going to fall off as it is, and another three miles will probably leave me dead on the side of the road. Besides,” He grinned as a familiar black sports car came into view in all its sleek glory. “For such a grouchy wolf, you have a badass car.”

“Shut up and get in,” Derek said, but before Stiles could comply and slide into the comfortable looking passenger seat, another vehicle pulled up and idled beside them. It was much less impressive, just a large, beaten down old truck that looked in dire need of a couple coats of paint and some hot wax.

Inside of it was Isaac, his slender form looking ridiculously out of place in such a hulking truck, but Boyd and Erica were nowhere in sight until Stiles twisted his neck to look around for them. “Gah!” he yelped, backing up when he discovered them right behind him. He managed to ding his side against the open door, which made him draw in a sharp breath at it aggravated the bruises on his midsection. “You guys need to wear freaking bells!”

Erica rolled her eyes. “Get in the back.”

“Does it really take four people in two vehicles to drop off one me?” Stiles questioned uncertainly, not wanting to be trapped in a vehicle for any extended period of time with her and Boyd after everything going the past few days. Besides, he wanted to ride shotgun. He hadn’t done that since Derek was still a fugitive on the run and Scott had thought it would be a good idea to temporarily misappropriate the car. “Or does everyone need a ride home now that doggie daycare is over?”

Derek only leveled him with a look. “One of us needs to be near you at all times, just in case the kanima attacks you again. Erica and Boyd will take—”

“No.”

“… Excuse me?”

Stiles tried not to be intimidated by the deadly tone, but it was kind of hard not to be somewhat terrified of the alpha world when his voice lowered so dangerously. He tried not to let it show just how much it affected him, instead only steeling his nerves and repeating himself.

“No,” he said simply. “You’re not invited into my house.”

Derek lifted his thick eyebrows slightly, a mild look of surprise on his face, like someone had just stepped on his tail and laughed at the yelp it provoked. For someone with only three facial expressions—angry, pissed off, and _whoa, who knew he could actually smile?_ —it was kind of an entertaining sight to behold. Really, it was; he was hard-pressed not to release a snicker. Or at least Stiles would be if the man wasn’t trying to bully him into this.

“I will accept the ride home if it’s still on the table,” he admitted, not really wanted to walk back the distance that had taken him near to an hour to cross earlier, when he’d at least had the aid of the sugar from the two energy drinks he had consumed which had given him some stamina. That was all gone though, and the stress of the day was catching up. “But after that, you will take your shiny, awesome car and skedaddle, because none of you are welcome in my home right now. Not after the crap you all pulled last week. Also, I never actually agreed to be bait. Just saying.”

“As if you could stop us,” Erica said with a hint of mockery.

Stiles silently withdrew his hand from his pocket, this time with his fingers firmly wound around the small canister attached to his keys; his thumb traced the small button carefully. “I might be able to, actually. And Erica, you’re really trying just a smidge too hard to sound like a bitch, so why don’t you drop the act and just shut the hell up?”

Erica drew back slightly, her back running into the broad chest of Boyd behind her, and for one brief moment, Stiles considered apologizing for his comment, no matter how much he felt she deserved to be taken down a peg or two. She then took a half-step forward, her lips pulled back in a scowl. He acted instinctively, raising his hand and brandishing his werewolf ward at her.

“Pepper spray?” she scoffed after studying it, but at least it had stopped her approach. “You really think that can stop me?”

Stiles smiled grimly. “Try me and we’ll see.”

Erica seemed to pause momentarily, and a hint of uncertainty snuck its way passed her bravado. He was practically willing her to do it too, to come at him with the claws out, because at least then he could use her as a test subject to see if his werewolf warded pepper spray actually worked like he hoped it would. Just as a future reference though, and not because he was still smarting a bit about waking up in a dumpster last week. No sir, it would be purely for scientific reasons and not…

… Okay, so it would be partially out of spite.

“Erica.” At the sound of her name, her brown eyes shot to Derek defiantly. She looked as if she wanted to say something, to maybe go against whatever unspoken order he had just given her, but instead the blonde allowed Boyd to pull her backward toward the other vehicle without a word. Derek looked at him. “Get in.”

Stiles shook his head in bafflement, but reluctantly tucked the keys back into his pocket and made himself comfortable in the passenger seat. He reached for the dial on the radio immediately once the engine roared to life, and gave Derek a wounded pout when the man slapped his hand away from the console before he could even reach it.

“Dead silence,” he griped. “Can’t argue with that.”

Neither one of them said anything for the journey back into town. The only sounds around them were the soft hum of the engine as the car accelerated and the own steady pace of their own breathing. It was not as uncomfortable as Stiles would have thought it should be, but neither was it very companionable. Tolerant, that’s what it was. It was a tolerable silence.

Fifteen minutes later, they were pulling up into the empty driveway, and Derek spoke. “Do you have a ride to school tomorrow?”

Stiles glanced at him. “No, I was—”

“Erica will pick you up at seven o’clock.”

“Screw that!” Stiles sputtered. “You are not sticking me with the she-devil! Her evil powers may work on the simpleminded, but not on me. My mind is much too complex to be taken in by her womanly wiles. Besides, her boobs are liable to poke my eyes out since she keeps trying to shove them in my face, so forget that idea.”

Derek only gave him a look. The laser eyes were back.

“Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll give Scott a call to pick me up. Will that suffice, warden?”

“Get out.”

Stiles unbuckled his seatbelt hastily, tripping slightly as he stumbled his way out of the car in a flurry of limbs. He shut the door carefully, backing away to watch as Derek recklessly backed out of the drive, and then sped off down the street with the harsh smell of rubber burning as his tires spun on the asphalt.

“Stupid show off,” he muttered, eyes widening when the car screeched to a halt without warning, taillights illuminated much like he imagined the glowing red eyes were. “Sorry, sorry!” He fumbled with his keys, quickly entering the house and locking the door behind him before peering out the window to see the car disappear down a corner.

Finally alone after what felt like an impossibly long day, Stiles walked into the kitchen and made his way to the fridge out of pure habit. He reached to open it, but paused when he saw a note hanging on the door suspended by a magnet. Apparently Stiles had only missed his father by all of ten minutes. The note said that the office was swamped trying to tie up the case, and that the man would be working a double shift tonight and probably wouldn’t be back until sometime tomorrow morning.

“What else is new,” he sighed heavily, tearing the note down and crumbling it in his fist. He scanned the contents of the refrigerator for a long while, but there was a vice around his gut that made even just the thought of food repulsive. He reached for a can of cola and threw the note away before he trudged up the stairs. He figured now was the time to work on homework instead of trying to decipher a language that seemed specifically engineered to be undecipherable to anyone. He needed to keep up his grades anyway, because they were actually better this term.

And by better, Stiles meant that he hadn’t had to waste time redoing a single essay or test after filling out the original with random facts he had learned from countless hours of internet surging or from watching the weird part of online videos again. He was acing every class since he was now answering with material that was relevant to the subject, so hopefully the next parent-teacher conference would be a lot more of a positive experience than the last.

Stiles entered his room and immediately froze when he felt a cool breeze waft over his face. The window was open. He stared at in in incomprehension.

A cold sweat trickled down his back and his heart gave a sudden lurch, his breath caught somewhere in his esophagus as he tried to remember how to breathe. He cast a quick look around, idly wondering if Derek was still close enough to hear him should he need to scream for help, and now totally regretting about being so stubborn on the bodyguard issue.

The window was open and Stiles distinctly remembered shutting it this morning. He edged forward cautiously one he snapped out of his stupor, biting down hard on his lip. He could see no viscous substance glistening anywhere, but just because he could not see any paralyzing toxic goo didn’t mean the kanima wasn’t here.

Or maybe he was just being paranoid. He liked that idea better, much better than a murderous beast sneaking into his room because it either had a crush on him or it wanted to crush him. Yeah, he had just left is window open… despite recalling nearly smashing his finger in it this morning in his rush not to be late for school. He peered outside for any sign of anything out of the ordinary before he snapped it shut, sliding the lock back into place.

Stiles closed the curtains just for good measure, taking a step back as he wiped his sweat-slickened palms off on his jeans. Then he just about jumped twelve feet in the air when he felt something brush his shoulder from behind, his scream of terror halfway out before he realized who it was behind him.

“Damn it Scott!” he yelped, pressing a hand to his chest. “You scared the hell out of me!”

And even though Stiles had only been joking internally about bells earlier, he was seriously considering buying one for each werewolf he knew so they couldn’t sneak up on him anymore. Customized collars, even, with their names embroidered in cursive and maybe a little tag that told people where to return them should they happen to get lost. And whoa, his best friend was looking a bit green behind the gills there.

“Scott?” he said cautiously. Scott released a pitiful moan instead of answering and swayed in place, while Stiles stared at him uncertainly.

That uncertainty turned to shock the moment the other boy collapsed suddenly. Scott landed face first on the floor and remained there unmoving. Stiles was spurred into motion when his friend weakly called his name, and he dropped to his needs beside him and rolled him over as gently as possible.

Golden eyes stared up at him, glazed over and unfocused. “Scott?” he questioned in concern, patting the abnormally pale cheeks lightly. “Dude, are you sick? Because I thought werewolves couldn’t get sick, at least, not a normal sickness, and you look really, really awful, man. This is definitely not normal.”

Scott whimpered slightly, looking miserable and paler by the second. “Hurts…”

Stiles cringed at the sound, his heart feeling constricted at his best friend’s pain. He panicked a bit when Scott went totally slack, eyes rolling back into his head as he lost consciousness. His mind was a litany of _no, no, no, no, not again,_ and _don’t die,_ and he suddenly jolted to his feet, reaching for his phone that was lying on the desk before he remembered that it had died a watery death.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he whispered urgently, about to spin in place and run downstairs to get to the phone connected to the landline—and then his eyes came to rest on the innocent looking flower lying beside the waterlogged cellular phone. His breath caught, eyes glancing up to the corners of his ceilings where hundreds of tiny buds were all spaced out six inches apart and secured on a thin rope along the walls.

It was all wolfsbane.

Stiles close his eyes briefly, just enough to collect himself. “Clearly I didn’t think this through enough,” he murmured as he reached down and grabbed his friend by the arms. “Stupid Scott,” he huffed out in concern more than anything, struggling to pull him out of the room that had apparently rendered him unconscious. “You weigh a freaking ton, man. It’s time to lay off the potato chips.”

Scott was obnoxiously silent.

By the time Stiles managed to drag him down the hall and far away from the room, he was huffing and puffing in order to pull the dead weight. He released him a suitable enough distance away, just outside the vacant guest room, setting him down and arranging his body into a more comfortable position before running a hand over his own head.

Could werewolves actually die from inhaling too much wolfsbane? God, he hoped not, because he seriously could not have accidentally murdered his best friend. Not Scott, because for all of his absentminded and idiotic tendencies, he was still one of the few people that Stiles had left. He dashed into the bathroom quickly and wet a washrag to use as a cool compress, curling up on his knees beside the unconscious boy and gently dabbed at the sweat gathered at his temples.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles breathed out, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough that he felt it split open again, tasting the blood as his eyes burned. He sat back on his heels, leaving the cool rag to rest on the hot forehead, not sure what else to do. “I’m sorry, Scott, so sorry… I… I’ll be right back, okay? I’m going to call your boss. He should be able to help right? God, please don’t die, please…”

Before Stiles could stumble to his feet in order to call for help, he felt an impossibly hot hand wrap around his wrist, loose but clearly keeping him in place. “Stiles?” Scott questioned faintly.

“Oh, thank God,” he gasped out, the edges of his vision blurring as he thumped to the floor in a boneless heap, wondering if he had just shaved a good ten years off his life. “You okay, man? Tell me you’re okay. What are you even doing here?!” His voice may or may not have gained a hysterical note to it… just saying. “I told you not to come into my room!”

Scott released another pathetic whimper, shaking his head. “Feel sick…” He shifted a bit, his brows inched together uncomfortably. “You forgot your bag at school.”

“Oh,” And now he felt like a major jackass. “But you’re okay, right?”

Scott nodded slowly, as if the motion pained him, so he tried to help by running a hand through the floppy brown hair until his friend made a content sound like an eager puppy. “Your flowers smell funny,” he said, a slight slur to his voice.

Stiles stilled. “What?” he asked, a frown forming on his face as he registered the words. “Scott… did you… did you _sniff_ the flowers on my desk?” His friend nodded again with a soft sigh of contentment, but Stiles raised his eyes heavenward and wondered how he had gotten saddled with such a dumbass friend. “That was wolfsbane, you idiot!”

“But it’s yellow,” Scott protested, a perplexed look on his face. “Wolfsbane is… purple… or lilac… heh, that’s Allison’s favorite color. Lilac… lie-lack.” He gigged a bit, a dopy smile in place. “Allison… I love Allison. Love her so much…”

Stiles bowed his head and resisted the urge to slap some common sense into that thick skull, but only restrained himself because Scott had one pupil larger than the other and was acting like he had a concussion… or quite possibly as if he were drunk. Even when he was on the verge of dying from wolfsbane poisoning, Scott was off in his own little world of _Allison, Allison_ , and, just a guess here, but _Allison…_

“I know,” he answered a bit snippily.

“Did I tell you how good things were?” Scott asked with wide eyes. “They are really, _really_ good… so good…”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I know too, Scott, but we are not supposed to talk about that anymore, remember? Not unless you want Papa Argent to make good on that threat of his and riddle you with more wolfsbane than what your little werewolf body can handle.”

“’sbane not yellow, though, right?”

“… There is more than just variety of wolfsbane,” Stiles informed him tiredly, pressing his back against the doorjamb of the guest bedroom. “You know, kind of how like roses are all the same in structure, but they come in different colors?”

"Oh,” Scott hummed. “Makes sense…”

“And for the record, it’s more of a lavender tone than lilac.”

Scott wrinkled his nose ten minutes later, finally regaining some color to his face as he blinked up at him deliriously. “Stiles?” There was an odd hint of a growl in his voice.

“Yes, Scott?”

“Why do you smell like Derek?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: January 22, 2012 by TamIsMyFather


	4. An Accord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek had considered that he may be wrong in his theory. He knew that there was a chance that he could have just misinterpreted everything, but he was not willing to risk it.

### An Accord

Derek slid out of his car after pulling up to his destination. He slowly walked around the front of the vehicle, coming to a stop on the other side, and simply leaned back against the passenger door with his arms crossed over his chest. He closed his eyes behind the shades he was wearing, inhaling deeply as he listened idly to the noise around him.

People moved about him, coming and going.

Admittedly, he may have looked a bit out of place in the neighborhood, especially just standing there. He could feel eyes on him from people stepping out onto their porches to retrieve the morning paper, from the few walking their dogs, and from the rest walking out to their own cars to head off to work.

It made him a bit anxious that the neighbors may gossip. Word could get back to Sheriff Stilinski that former suspected murderer Derek Hale had been seen lurking outside of his home; it was an unpleasant thought. It would be especially bad if anyone witnessed him _manhandling_ the man's son into his car, which was why he was hoping this went as smoothly as possible.

Derek heard movement inside the house as he waited, and then the boy emerged onto the porch not more than five minutes later. He had backed out in order to lock the house up, his shoulders curled oddly inward and his book bag hanging loosely from his hand. And then he turned around, a cheerful though somewhat tired smile on his face.

Stiles stilled at the sight of him.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," he breathed out, his eyes widening in disbelief. His heartbeat accelerated slightly, and he tore his eyes away to look down the street urgently. He was obviously looking for his friend, but McCall would not be coming this morning because Derek had already seen to that last night.

Once Scott had been made aware of the theory that the kanima may be after his best friend, the kid had been ridiculously easy to lure to his side. They had already been tentative allies since the night at the pool, but Derek had played to the fact that they would need to protect Stiles, conveniently omitting the fact that watching out for him would give them the chance to strike should it attack again. Derek almost wished he would have thought to do something similar sooner, preferably without placing Stiles in real danger, but he would take what he got.

There was little doubt in his mind that their tempers would clash. Scott and Derek were equally stubborn and willful, and not easily submissive either, so there would be arguments between them and tension, but they would work together. Everything was going to run much better now that they had stopped treating each other like enemies.

Scott was probably the only one who had any semblance of control other than himself. He had been a wolf the longest, he knew his strengths and his weaknesses, and he had even begun to embrace his abilities if that little display at the ice rink had been any indication. He had very little common sense, but what he lacked in intelligence he made up for with determination and a good heart. He would be essential in helping the pack mellow out; to help the others utilize their new senses while still retaining their humanity.

"What are you doing here?"

Derek frowned slightly at the weak demand, taking a moment to study the boy. His eyes narrowed in displeasure as he noted the discoloration beneath brown eyes. He had suspected Stiles had been having difficulty sleeping yesterday; his suspicions were only strengthened when the boy had recounted the traumatic horror he'd witnessed.

Witnessing a murder so gruesome would be difficult to live with. He was trying to live through it, with the guilt and terror he must have felt. The fact that Stiles had been completely immobilized throughout the encounter only made the situation that much more terrifying. All of it only strengthened his resolve that someone needed to make sure the kid wasn't alone to experience something like that again, despite the ulterior motives involved.

What concerned Derek the most was the fact that he could not scent any traces of sustenance on him. Even if someone were to meticulously clean each tooth after every meal, there would always still be traces of residue on their breath. His displeasure only grew as he inhaled subtly, the smell of medicine, fatigue and sugary, carbonated beverages filling his lungs and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There was nothing else; the boy was running off of fumes.

Stiles made an impatient sound, his eyebrows high. "Hello? Are you going to answer, or are you just going to stand there and look pretty for Mrs. Dawson across the street? I hear she's a cougar, but I think she may actually make an exception for you."

"A cougar?" Derek repeated, glancing over his shoulder. There was a scantily clad woman standing just outside the door of her home, her hair and makeup already done despite her state of undress. She smiled at him, slow and sultry, and he felt an unpleasant pang at the sight, his gut twisting uncomfortably.

"Yeah, cougar," Stiles said when he turned around. He lifted an eyebrow at the blank stare he got in return, only understanding that Derek didn't recognize the reference after a few moments of silence. "You know, an older, attractive woman who preys on younger, attractive men who are still at their sexual peak?"

Derek only just managed to keep from baring his teeth at the woman, realizing why she had unsettled him now. Everything about her was too familiar; her stance was welcoming, knowing she was attractive and using it to her advantage, her eyes dark and meaningful, and even the pheromones she was releasing, it all reminded him of _her._ He had been unaware that there was a term for it, but he couldn't help but think that the word was a rather fitting one to describe Kate Argent.

That woman was a cougar in all meanings of the word if there ever was one.

Mrs. Dawson across the street called out a greeting a moment later. "Good morning, Stiles," she said brightly, her sugary voice tinged with familiarity, as if she were used to greeting him every morning. "You look very handsome today, sweetheart!"

Derek curled his hands into fists at his sides, hearing his knuckles crack as he tried to control the shift. He tried to breathe, to rid himself of the anger he felt at her comment, but the air was tainted with her pheromones and the stench of multiple partners. Her scent confirmed her words; she obviously found Stiles to be a very attractive young man.

It did not sit well with him.

Stiles raised a hand in return, his pale cheeks flushing under the compliment. "Hello, Mrs. Dawson," he replied with an easy, lopsided grin. "And thank you, you're looking very lovely yourself. Looks like those weekend yoga classes are really paying off," His heartbeat was steady and truthful, but there was nothing in his scent that said he reciprocated her attraction.

Mrs. Dawson laughed in response, her voice a twittering, high-pitched giggle that grated on his sensitive hearing. "Who is your friend, dear?" she drawled a second later, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as he felt her eyes rest on him.

Derek snarled immediately, reaching down with clawed hands to pry the passenger door open. He noted the brown eyes widening with a savage growl, the accelerated heartbeat at the obvious fear of exposure only making him more agitated. He gestured angrily for the teen to get into the car, gritting his teeth to keep from saying anything he might later regret.

Stiles acted instantaneously, hurrying forward to get inside with a disjointed excuse to the woman for the hasty retreat, but Derek could hardly make the words out over the blood pumping through his veins and in his ears. He slammed the door shut with perhaps more force than necessary once the boy was inside, then stalked around to the other side of the vehicle so he could get in as well.

Derek flashed the woman a red-eyed glare before he slid into his seat. She gave off a spike of fear, and her eyes grew round before she quickly retreated back into the house without another word. He rumbled a growl in satisfaction and started the engine, peeling away before he could let his instincts take hold entirely.

Minutes passed by with agonizing slowness as Derek drove, driving through the streets with no particular destination in mind other than _away_. He was repulsed by the notion of Stiles getting involved with a woman like her. He had gone down that route before and it was the biggest regret of his life. He knew logically that the boy had no real interest in her, that he was just indulging her, but just the thought of someone repeating his mistake had him on edge.

Derek exhaled roughly through his nose, easing up on the accelerator as the swift sound of a heartbeat penetrated his erratic thoughts. He concentrated on the sound, letting it wash over him, and glanced out of the corner of his eye to where Stiles had his hands pressed to the dash. His chest was expanding and deflating rapidly, his own breaths coming out quick as well.

"What the hell was _that?_ " Stiles questioned once he regained his thoughts, his voice growing higher when he noticed the long protrusions extending from Derek's nail beds. "Are you…" he began hesitantly, obviously not sure what to make of his behavior; Derek wasn’t sure he could explain it either. "Are you okay?"

"Fine."

Stiles turned to give him a dubious look. "Of course you are."

"Stiles," Derek ground out. "Be quiet or—"

"—You'll rip my throat out?" he supplied unhelpfully. "With your teeth?"

Derek glanced at him incredulously. "Do you remember everything I say?"

"I remember everything everyone says. I have a very vivid memory."

Derek flexed his fingers around the steering wheel, the whiteness from his knuckles fading with a sigh. His claws retracted slowly, the heartbeat beside him growing steady once more, no longer fearful and uncertain. He could feel his palms already healing from where he had unintentionally gouged himself.

"Seriously, Derek," Stiles said after a few more minutes, never one to appreciate the bliss of silence. He studied him, a concerned frown sweeping over his features. "… Are you okay?"

Derek considered the question. "Yes," he said tersely, offering no further elaboration than that. He was composed now. He glanced at their surroundings, trying to figure out where he had driven them. He must have been driving out of muscle memory, because he spotted a familiar diner just ahead.

On a split second decision, he decelerated and pulled off into the parking lot. It had been a few weeks since Derek had come here, because not too long ago he would have probably been arrested on sight for even setting foot out into a public restaurant. But before that whole fugitive mess, this was one of the few places he liked to eat.

Stiles peered out with a frown, giving him a sidelong look. "Why are we here?"

"Get out of the car," he said in lieu of answering, pressing the lock button on his keys once they were both standing beside it. He could sense Stiles lingering behind him, an obvious question on his lips as he strode passed him toward the entrance, but eventually curiosity won out and they both entered.

Derek immediately moved toward the booth he had claimed as his upon his first visit, pleased to see that there was no one else sitting there. It was secluded enough, just a little nook in the far corner with a decent view of the forest on one side and a wide walkway in between it and the service counter on the other.

"I'm going to be late for school," Stiles complained as he slid into the seat across from him, resting his arms on the table. "Detention just does _not_ sound appealing to me," he said with a disgruntled face. "Especially since I already have detention with Mr. Harris for, you know, basically my _whole_ _life_ thanks to Scott and his super accurate paper ball toss."

Instead of responding, Derek merely turned to the server as she approached. He recognized her easily and smiled briefly, ignoring the way Stiles gawked at him for it. He could be pleasant when he wanted to be; it just took a lot less effort not to be. Everyone here had always been kind to him, so he could respond in kind.

"Good morning, Patricia," he said softly, thanking her when she offered them iced water and menus. "How have you been?"

Patricia smiled shyly. "Better than you apparently," she said teasingly, retrieving her notepad and pen from her apron. "Heard you had some trouble with the law, although…" She gave Stiles a curious glance. "It must not have been as serious as everyone thought if Sheriff Stilinski lets you hang around his son."

Stiles lifted his eyes from where he was methodically shredding his napkin. "Huh? Oh, yeah, he was just suspected of several counts of murder. No big." He seemed completely unaware of the fact that Derek was silently seething across from him, but thankfully the girl thought he was joking, since she apparently didn't know the details herself, and laughed it off.

"So," she said. "What can I get you to drink?"

"My usual," Derek told her. "Stiles?"

"Nothing," he replied. "I'm good."

"Okay, then," Patricia nodded. "I'll just go get your coffee, Derek, while you two look over your menus."

Derek allowed his smile to drop the moment she disappeared, and though he was sorely tempted to kick Stiles beneath the table for his big fat mouth, he was distracted when he saw what the boy was doing. Stiles had begun to fidget anxiously, his napkin now resembling something akin to confetti on the table in front of him.

"Calm down."

Stiles snorted, ignoring him in favor of taking his straw and slowly pushing the top of the wrapper down so that it bunched in the middle before he did the same to the other side. He carefully slid the tightly bunche-up wrapper off of the straw before he dipped the drinking utensil into his water, using his thumb to collect a few droplets.

Derek frowned. "What are you doing?"

Stiles smiled slightly, glancing up from his task. "You've never done this before?" he asked curiously, holding the straw over the wrapper and allowing just a little of the water to drip out onto it. Interestingly enough, the paper began to squirm, moving as if it were a worm trying to crawl away. He continued to do it until the paper was soaked and unmoving.

"Why does it do that?"

"It has to do with the water absorption," Stiles shrugged, a sort of nostalgic grin on his face. "You just compact the paper and wet it. It will work a bit like a sponge, how they expand when they're wet." He shrugged again. "Just one of the ways my mom kept me occupied when she took me to restaurants."

Derek had never heard him speak of his mother before. He had been in the Stilinski house enough times to know there were no traces of a woman living there; it was not something he dwelled on because it was not his business. He had never thought to question it before, but there was a melancholy air around the boy now and he had been speaking in past tense.

"It was fun," Stiles added quietly, turning his head to look out the window. "She was always trying to find ways to keep my mind entertained. My favorite was when she would arrange our silverware into tic-tac-toe grids and play with me. Sometimes she even requested extra butter knives because they worked the best since they are flat, and we would use the sweetener packets as our pieces…"

"… You miss her."

Stiles looked up in surprise at his soft tone. He gave a slight nod. "Always."

"Is she…?"

"Gone. She's gone," he said quietly, the sound of his heartbeat rising as his emotions churned. "Dead." He bowed his head and swallowed visibly, staring down at his hands. "Can we not talk about this please?"

Derek considered him carefully, nodding his head in compliance even though he was looking away. He could understand not wanting to broach such a sensitive topic. He still had trouble even just thinking about his family, and, for all except his sister and his uncle, they had been gone for over six years.

Stiles played with his confetti, lifting some up with his fingers and watching as it dropped back onto the tabletop. He was still hurting from his loss. Stiles hid it well, so easily with all of his witty comments and his brash, spastic nature, but he was just as damaged as him.

Where Derek distanced himself from people to avoid experiencing pain, Stiles drew people close to him and smiled through it. It was an alien notion, such a different method of coping with the loss. He may have lost more people, but he thought perhaps they both were equally crippled by the loss of their loved ones.

Derek watched him play with the napkin some more before suddenly reaching for his silverware. He set the knife and fork down vertically, then grabbed the other set and laid those utensils down over the top of them horizontally. He grabbed the blue packets of sweetener out of their designated holder and placed one on the grid.

Stiles had frozen the moment he had begun to construct the game. He slowly lifted his head, his face open and vulnerable as he studied him, searching his intentions. His shoulders released some of their tension a few seconds later, a smile that was wide and inviting spreading across his face before he reached for the yellow packets.

They played several games in silence, each winning once or twice, but there were more ties than anything. After about five minutes of this, Patricia returned with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that, I had to brew a fresh pot. One coffee, black!" she said, placing the cup in from of him. "So, are you two ready to order yet?"

Derek realized that neither of them had looked at the menu.

Before he could ask for more time to decide, Stiles was shaking his head at the waitress. "Nothing for me, thanks," he murmured quietly. "I'm not really hungry."

Derek narrowed his eyes at the protest, knowing the boy had not eaten properly in days at least. He was not trying to keep him alive just to let him die of starvation. "We'll have two orders of the pancake stacks, scrambled eggs and hash browns on the side, and extra bacon for both of us, please."

Patricia smiled brightly. "Alright, I'll get that right out for you!"

"Derek," Stiles frowned at him. "I'm not hungry, plus my monetary situation is kind of nonexistent at the moment, so I can't really afford an eight dollar plate of food. Also, need I remind you that I need to be at school like five minutes ago?"

"Your first class doesn't start for thirty minutes," Derek disputed carelessly, watching the sputtered reaction at the fact that he knew that. "You don't need to worry about the bill, because this is on me. And since I am spending my money on you, you should at least try to eat what you can to be polite."

"… Fine."

Derek was suspicious at the easy compliance, having expected him to at least argue for another few minutes. But all he saw was Stiles slumped down in his seat, staring out the window in reluctant defeat, and knew that he was just too tired to argue. "Good."

Stiles turned back after a moment. "Why are you doing this?"

"I need to talk to you about the kanima."

"I feel like we've had this conversation."

"When it comes after you again—"

"If," Stiles corrected quickly. " _If_ it comes after me,"

"—do you really think you could protect yourself?" Derek continued unhindered. "It moves fast. You could never outrun it. Even if you were trained to fight something like this, you would probably die like that hunter Scott told us about. He was _shredded_ when they found him. Did you read the report on Isaac's father? He was _mauled_ beyond recognition. It took authorities three days to identify him."

"I can protect myself." He sounded as if even he didn't believe it.

"Scott agrees with me that you need one of us with you at all times."

Stiles lifted his eyebrows. " _Us?_ " he repeated disbelievingly. "So what, is he part of the pack now? I know we're all trying to work together, but I figured it was in a _the enemy of my enemy is my friend,_ temporary alliance sort of way. Not a _we're all in this together_ kind of thing where everyone gangs up on Stiles. When the hell did that happen?"

"Last night," Derek informed him.

Stiles sighed heavily and rubbed his face. "For the record, if you want to be taken seriously, then don't use the opinion of the guy who _sniffed_ wolfsbane yesterday and almost got himself killed because he thought it was just a pretty flower as your reasoning. Scott is not the best judge of _anything_. Or do you not recall that whole incident at the school with the intercom and kitty growl and the blaming everything on you?"

Derek felt his mouth twitch in amusement against his will. He had smelled the wolfsbane emanating from the house when he dropped the boy off yesterday, but Scott had apparently neglected to inform him when they'd spoken later that night that he had experienced the effects of being in its presence firsthand. Not that it surprised him, though.

"Scott agreed to keep an eye on you during school," he told him, deciding not to comment on the apparent lack of common sense his new beta had. "Either me, Isaac, or Boyd will be with you when you're home, so you'll need to take down the wolfsbane tonight. We won't be able to enter the house for at least twenty-four hours after that; otherwise the lingering scent will overpower our senses, and we won't be able to protect you properly."

Stiles clenched his jaw, a stubborn look in his eyes. "I never agreed to this."

"Do you really want to die?"

"Maybe I do," Stiles snapped. "No one bothered to _ask me_ what I want,"

Derek stiffened with disbelief, his own eyes widening. He stared at him hard, barely fighting the urge to shift right here in the diner; the only thing that kept him from doing so was the shock reflecting in brown eyes, as if Stiles could not believe he had said it himself. He exhaled slowly, listening to the unsteady rhythm across from him as he waited for the words to be taken back.

Patricia arrived with their food just then, halting the conversation even more. She seemed to realize that her timing was perhaps a bit inconvenient because she briefly explained that if they needed anything else just to call for her, and then she walked away swiftly to give them some privacy.

Silence lingered for a while longer before Stiles leaned back slightly, his arms sliding away from the table to curl around himself. "I… I didn't mean that," he said softly, confusion clouding his gaze, muttering under his breath in a way that Derek would have been unable to even hear had he been human. "Why would I say that?" He bit down on his lip. "I just meant that…"

Derek thought about it for a moment once he fell silent. "You're just angry," he said firmly, his senses reaching out to confirm it even as he said it. He slowly relaxed when he realized he was right. "You only said it because you don't appreciate the fact that we aren't giving you a choice."

Stiles shifted in his seat uncomfortably, looking away to peer out of the window again as he resumed messing with the tattered napkin. "So what is the plan? What, you guys just follow me around on the off chance that it attacks me again?"

"Yes."

"And what if you're wrong?" he countered. "What if it _was_ just a coincidence? It might be out there right now attacking someone else while you're wasting your time on me."

Derek had considered that he may be wrong in his theory. He knew that there was a chance that he could have just misinterpreted everything, but he was not willing to risk it. He had a valuable ally in Stiles, so he would rather put effort into keeping him alive than to roam around the city, just waiting idly by in hopes that the kanima would find a new target. He relayed as much to Stiles, who only looked defeated and upset.

"Eat your food," he told him, already digging into his own meal.

Stiles made a face as if eating was the last thing he wanted to do after that taxing conversation, but he eventually complied after pouring an unhealthy amount of maple syrup onto his stack of pancakes. It did not go unnoticed that he only ate a small portion of everything, but it was enough to appease Derek for the moment.

"Maybe we can come to a compromise," the boy suggested after a while, pushing what was left of his food around on his plate.

"A compromise?" he repeated dubiously.

Stiles nodded with a calculating gleam in his eyes. "This will go a lot smoother if we're all on the same page, right? So… you already know I have a lot of questions, especially about the whole pack dynamic thing and werewolf lore, because at least ninety percent of the shit I found on the internet was just some really kinky porn, and after that, most of it was vague and not entirely accurate…"

"You want me to answer your questions?" Derek guessed. "Can't McCall do that?"

Stiles just gave him a look. "Seriously? Other than what little you taught him, everything he knows about what he is came from what I've been able to find out. Scott was _bitten_ ," he emphasized. "He was a completely normal teenager who dealt with acne and asthma before all this happened. But you… you were _born_ into this; you were raised around it."

Derek had to concede that he knew quite a bit more than they all did. He was trying to instill a lot of it into his own pack even, so he knew where Stiles was coming from. Some things were instinctive, but others could be complicated. "If I agree to answer your questions, you'll cooperate?" he asked. "You will remove the wolfsbane from your room?"

"Yes, yes," Stiles agreed impatiently, rolling his eyes. "You can use me as bait, since we both know that's what this is all about. But you have to cooperate too. You have to answer my questions, even if you think I'm being intentionally obtuse. No shoving me into walls just because I annoy you and no monotone answers." He sat back in his seat, giving him an expectant, eager look. "Do we have an accord?"

Derek sighed, knowing he was going to regret this somehow. "… Do I have any other options?" He did not like the slow smile that spread across Stiles' face at his compliance.

"Awesome," he grinned. "So, for my first question—"

"Not yet," Derek cut him off, stopping all protests when he reminded him that school started in eight minutes. He settled the bill with Patricia and wished her a good day before they returned to the car. It was a quick drive to the school, so there was not much time to answer anything substantial, but Derek kept his word and tried not to get irritated by the undying questions.

Stiles turned to him when they came to a stop. "Thank you for breakfast," he said hesitantly. "And for… yeah." He reached down and undid his seat belt.

"We think the kanima may be someone who was bitten by an alpha," Derek informed him before he could get out.

Stiles frowned at him before realization dawned, his face suddenly becoming ashen. He already knew who he was speaking of. "You think it might be Lydia?"

"Lydia Martin is one of our suspects," he confirmed, reluctantly adding, "Jackson Whittemore is another."

"Jackson? When did he—" Stiles paused at the look he received. " _You_ bit him? Dude, at least Isaac, Erica, and Boyd were nice before the bite, but Jackson has always been a douche. No wonder he's been bitchier than usual."

"His body is rejecting the bite."

"But I thought…" Stiles only frowned again. "Your uncle said that that the bite either kills you or turns you. He… does that mean that they're both immune to it?"

Derek looked up sharply at the mention of Peter. "When did you speak to my uncle?" he asked him. He only recalled that night at the hospital when they first discovered that Peter was the alpha, but there had not been enough time for a conversation before Derek had interrupted.

"When he kidnapped me," Stiles supplied, flinching back at the unexpected growl. "Whoa, dude, chill out. He needed help to find out where the hunters were keeping you, so he had me track Scott's phone since we thought you might have picked it up." He scratched his head. "So… _could_ they be immune to the bite? If they are, that might mean the kanima isn't either of them, right?"

"No one is immune," Derek denied, knowing that the boy was just grasping at straws because he didn't want to believe it could be either of his friends. "I've never seen it _or_ heard of it. It's… it's never happened. You turn or you die; there is no in-between."

Stiles hesitated with his hand on the door, giving him an uncertain look. "What are you going to do if it is one of them?" he asked quietly.

Derek just looked at him, his grim frown answer enough. "You're going to be late," he told him, his words enforced by the shrill sound of the bell cutting through the air. The boy stared at him a moment longer, eyes both wounded and defiant, before finally reaching for the handle. "And Stiles?"

Stiles looked back at him with obvious reluctance. "What?"

"Stay away from Jackson and Lydia."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: January 22, 2012 by TamIsMyFather.


	5. Still Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their devotion to one another was clearly visible, forcing him to acknowledge the unpleasant fact that he was still alone.

### Still Alone

There was a limit to the cavity inducing, sweet, simpering lovey-dovey speeches a guy could listen to, let alone have to _repeat_ to the intended recipient. It was mentally taxing along with physically exhausting, and Stiles was already tired enough as it was. He was seriously just considering buying some walky-talkies for the happy couple to escape being in the middle of this disaster waiting to happen anymore.

Not only would it be nice to actually be able to spend his free period doing something that _he_ wanted to do, but it would be a hundred times safer for them all in case someone did manage to connect the dots. At the rate those two had him traveling back and forth as their own personal cupid, and people would be hard pressed _not_ to question it.

Eventually someone would notice why Stiles was sprinting across the grounds. And if word somehow got back to Chris Argent that the forbidden relationship had actually never stopped as he commanded, there was little doubt as to what would happen to Scott. The man had made the consequences of such a relationship abundantly clear in fact, because subtle was obvious not a word to be associated with that family.

It was too dangerous to continue, which is exactly what Stiles told them this morning. He put his foot down and told them he was done being messenger. If they wanted to continue their illicit love affair, then they needed to keep him the hell out of it and find better and more subtle means of communication.

Only now Stiles was wishing that he would have stuck to being the messenger, because he was being subjected to deep, mournful sighs from his best friend every ten seconds, followed by the longing glances being exchanged between the two. He had been thoroughly distracted by the both of them all throughout his first two classes, and his anxiousness only increased as they brushed against each other in the hallway as they exited the classrooms.

Stiles pulled his friend aside once the rest of the students were far enough away not to be able to overhear. "Are you even listening to me?" he asked after explaining that this—what he and Allison were doing right now—was much worse and much more dangerous than just sending him rushing down the halls. "Scott?" he tried again, sighing when he received no answer. “You have the Allison look again.”

He glanced over to where the girl in question was standing, and though she seemed to be talking with Lydia about something, there was a secret smile on her face. Her eyes cut toward where Stiles was standing with Scott, and the dopy idiot smiled widely at her. Their looks must have conveyed something in that private language of theirs, because they seemed to still be communicating without words.

Scott was silent for another two minutes before a dopey smile worked its way onto his face. "Allison wants me to meet her in the eraser room," he informed him, having apparently not registered a single word of the whole _it's dangerous_ speech earlier because he had been too busy listening to his not-so-secret girlfriend whisper sweet nothing to him somehow. "Can you be look-out for us?"

"Are you insane or just plain stupid?" Stiles demanded in a fervent whisper. "Are you two actually _trying_ to get caught? You'll get more than detention if someone sees you, or have you forgotten who our new principal is? Grandpa Argent knows what you are, genius, so what do you think he will do when he finds out that you're defiling his granddaughter during school hours?"

"Stiles, I can't…" Scott whimpered, his voice exasperated, but at least his eyes remained their normal brown color and not flashing golden. He gave him a despondent look, one that spoke of pure misery and hopeless despair. "I can't help it… I… I _need_ to see her, Stiles. It's like I can't _breathe_ until I see her face, and… it hurts. Being apart from her hurts so much."

Stiles had to look away from him, clenching his eyes shut against the pitiful sight. He might not be happy with how easily his best friend seemed to forget he existed unless it was convenient or he needed something, but they had been inseparable ever since they were children. He had never been able to say no to him, especially not when he was upset about something.

"Come on," he sighed, knowing that his friend was liable to take the most direct and obvious route to get to Allison. Stiles knew the layout of the school better though, so he knew that by detouring through the library, they would avoid suspicious eyes much easier even if it took them longer to get there.

The eraser room itself was a bit out of the way for most people, secluded enough that some people actually used it for trysts like this, but the corridor it was down was usually vacant. No one paid them any mind as they walked through the library, and just as he had suspected, there was no one else out in the corridor when they emerged out the other exit.

Scott darted down the hall to the shut door on the far end, knocking briefly before he pulled it open and slid inside without another word. Stiles rolled his eyes when he caught up, catching the door before it could snap shut, glancing around one last time to make sure no one else had seen before following. He entered just in time to see Scott rush forward to catch her around the waist, drawing her in close and holding her to him as if she may crumble without his support.

Scott lifted one hand to cup her face lovingly, running the pad of his thumb across her cheek. Allison only breathed in deeply through her nose as she surged onto her toes to press her lips to his in a desperate, loving kiss. It was an intimate scene that caused the pale skin of his cheeks to darken.

Stiles knew he was intruding upon their private moment, but he could not bring himself to look away immediately. He had seen the other students holding hands and kissing in the hallways before, pledging love and platitudes of forever and always. He had never actually kissed anyone himself, but in the past he had always imagined that Lydia Martin would be his first kiss.

Lydia had kind of destroyed that delusion the other day though. He had begun to hope ever since the end of winter formal, because she had finally seemed to notice him, at least enough to _ask him_ to the dance with her. She had even seemed to be enjoying herself for the most part, and he foolishly allowed himself to believe that she might be beginning to like him back.

Skating together at the ice rink had only enforced his hopes, especially when she took his hand. Lydia had not verbally acknowledge anything, and in fact seemed to think everything relationship-wise that he'd said was all about their friends and their secret rendezvous to hide from the disapproving parents or whatever story Allison had told to justify it, but he had been deceiving himself by reading into her sudden niceness.

After it was all said and done at the ice rink, Stiles drove her home while she cried herself asleep beside him. And Lydia talked in her sleep… about Jackson Whittemore.

Stiles had known then it would never happen. He had been disappointed when he dropped her off, if not a bit shattered. He had been pining after her since the third grade, and even when he thought he might finally have a chance with her, he never even had that chance because her heart was already taken and she never really got it back.

It hurt something fierce. He had liked her for so long that he had never really taken notice of anyone else in that sense, focusing all of his attention onto her. He was at a loss of how to feel now that he had finally accepted the fact that he had never even been an option for her. He had not even allowed himself to dwell on it since, because there were more pressing matters at hand recently, and the pain was still there; still raw and tender, like an ache beneath his skin that refused to go away.

Stiles had liked Lydia so much, but he knew that he had never loved her the way he thought he had because he knew he could move on eventually. He would always care for her, worry for her, and think of her as someone deep in his heart; she was unforgettable to him. He could imagine a future without her in it though… whereas Allison and Scott seemed as if it would literally devastate them to be separated for even a few hours.

No words needed to be spoken between them.

Everything Stiles had ever seen of couples seemed to pale in comparison to _this_. He had never seen any two people so in tuned with each other, so in love and unwilling to let go even if it meant they would forever be in danger. He had no doubt in his mind that they were stronger than the average high school romance; their love for each other reflected in their faces in a way he had only seen in the photographs he had of his parents together.

It was beautiful and honest and pure.

It made his own heart ache for some reason he wasn't sure he wanted to understand, some twist in his stomach as Scott ran his hands through Allison's dark hair, placing gentle butterfly kisses all over her face. Their devotion to one another was clearly visible, forcing him to acknowledge the unpleasant fact that he was still alone.

Stiles had to force himself to look away from their stolen moment then. He turned back around, pushing the door open slightly, enough to see if anyone was headed their way, as had been his original intent upon entering the room. He could hear them speaking in quiet tones behind him as the minutes ticked by, could hear the soft smacking of lips, and did his best to respect their privacy.

Being witness to this, it was hard to hold onto his annoyance with Scott. He wanted to resent them both for everything, he wanted to be angry of the growing distance between him and his best friend, but seeing them together like this only made his chest hurt for them because they were obviously hurting too.

Only when Stiles heard the whispered goodbyes did glance back, smiling reluctantly as they pressed their foreheads together. They were not kissing this time; they were just staring at each other, sharing their breaths as they smiled. It was sickeningly sweet, and Stiles would never forgive either of them for making him so envious of their relationship.

"Tonight?" Scott asked quietly, but it was more like a plea. “By the rocks?”

Allison nodded her consent and began to pull away from him, her hand lifting to rest against his cheek. Scott abruptly began to shift his features when she stepped out of his arms completely, his fangs extending from his gums as his eyes glowed, and he turned his head to nip at her vulnerable wrist.

Stiles gasped at the sight, his eyes growing wide as he took an instinctual step forward.

Heart doing a funny little jump from his chest to his throat, he stopped before he could reach them, silently freaking out. But Allison only smiled at the movement, seemingly unsurprised by it in fact. He paused to observe, noting that while Scott's teeth had sunk into her skin, enough to leave an impression, they had not gone deep enough to actually draw blood.

"Tonight," Allison promised him, pulling the sleeve of her jacket over the red crescents now on the underside of her wrist. She tucked a loose tendril of dark hair behind her ear as she moved to leave, smiling sweetly as she passed him. "Thank you, Stiles."

"No problem," he replied absently, not entirely sure what he had just witnessed. He gave his friend an uneasy look once she was gone. "What was _that?_ "

Scott frowned at him. "What?"

Stiles made a noise of disbelief. "You just _bit_ Allison!" he said, gesticulating a bit wildly due to his shock. Seriously, what the hell? "You _bit_ her, and not just with your teeth, you bit her with your _fangs_." He could only stare at him, awaiting an explanation because for a moment there, he actually thought that Scott was going to _hurt_ her. It made him feel a bit foolish for even considering it, especially after witnessing that display of affection, but _fangs!_

"Oh," Scott flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "… Yeah, I did."

Stiles stared at him. "What the hell, man?"

"It's…" Scott struggled to search for words to express _why_ he would want to maim his precious girlfriend, running his fingers through his hair with an anxious sigh. "… It's hard to explain," he said finally. "It just feels like… maybe I should? No, no… like I _need_ to do it…" He gave him a helpless look.

"You need to bite your girlfriend."

"Allison said she doesn't mind…" he added meekly.

"You've done that before?" It would certainly explain why the mark had been so visible already and why she hadn't been upset or startled by it. "Huh… so it's a wolf thing then? Like… marking your territory?" He smirked slowly at the flush on his friend's face. "It is, isn't it? It's the werewolf equivalent of a hickey or something,"

Scott only blushed slightly, hiding his face a bit. "I guess,"

"Why the wrist?" he queried.

The question only made his friend blush harder for some reason, his tanned cheeks practically glowing with embarrassment. He wondered what was so embarrassing about it, but before Scott could even answer, the warning bell rang, signaling classes would be starting momentarily and they were all the way on the other side of the school.

They shared a look of dread before bolting out of the room.

It took them five minutes to get there at full sprint; Scott entered the room just as the bell rang, but Stiles was one step behind him, just outside the door when the shrill sound ended. He slid into his seat next to his lab partner quickly, inwardly groaning when he saw Mr. Harris approaching. He could see it written behind those spectacles; he had earned himself another detention for being all of one second late.

Confirming his words, the teacher paused beside him with a bleak frown. "Late again, Mr. Stilinski," he said, loudly enough to draw attention to them. "See you in detention,"

Stiles ignored the snickers around him, refusing to let anyone know how it affected him. He gnashed his teeth together instead, glaring at the man's back as he moved toward the front of the room. He was being singled out almost on a daily basis.

Jackson sauntered into the room not more than two minutes later, looking completely unconcerned by that fact that he too was late. "Take a seat Mr. Whittemore," the teacher said dismissively, blatant favoritism at work.

"You okay?"

Stiles started at the unexpected question, looking to his side. Danny Mahealani stared back at him in concern, his dark eyes flickering between the teacher and Stiles as if he wanted to say something about the treatment. He smiled briefly, giving a sharp nod of his head.

"Yeah, I’m fine."

Danny pursed his lips for a moment, before looking down, frowning at his textbook. "You should—"

"I'm _fine,_ Danny," he repeated, giving him a grateful look. "Don't worry about it."

Harris had said at the beginning of the month that Stiles was going to be his personal project, and so far he had been keeping that promise. It had not been too bad in the beginning, but recently the man had been insulting him in front of everyone. Hurtful slurs and belligerent comments about his intelligence, or apparently lack thereof, had become a commonplace the past few days. He also had detention almost every day for something or another, whether he deserved it or not.

Stiles was almost positive that Harris was targeting him because of his dad, who had questioned him about his involvement with Kate Argent and the fire that had murdered most of the Hales. There had to be rules against this kind of teaching though. He was sure he had read somewhere that behavior like that was unacceptable.

It was unacceptable regardless, though it was especially bad in a learning environment. But what could he do about it? He had tried to complain about unfairness to the man at one point and ended up with another handful of detentions, and he refused to go see the principal now that Gerard Argent occupied the position. That would only make things worse.

Stiles appreciated the fact that someone else had acknowledged the bad treatment though. Danny seemed almost offended on his behalf even, but then again, that was just who he was. The other boy was a very caring individual, the kind of person who put everyone else ahead of himself. He was also quiet and kept mostly to himself, but he was observant.

It was a nice sentiment that he was upset on his behalf, but Danny could do nothing about it without drawing attention to himself. Harris would eventually get bored singling Stiles out for his vendetta anyway; nothing to be done except bear it. The teacher did say one or two more indirect comments throughout the rest of the class session, but Stiles ignored them all to the best of his ability.

"Hey Danny," Stiles whispered near the end of class, his mind distracted from their project momentarily. He bit down on his lip uncertainly, doubt flickering in his mind. "Could I… could I ask you a personal question?"

Danny sighed as he wrote something down and said nothing.

Normally Stiles would have responded to that with a ' _Great, so what I wanted to know was…'_ or something along those lines. But this was different. This wasn't him just asking if Danny found him attractive out of uncontrollable curiosity. He was being serious. His silence must have confused Danny, because he finally looked up, a questioning frown on his face.

"What, Stiles?"

"… Do people… does anyone give you a hard time?" he asked. "For being…"

Danny flashed him a guarded look. "Why?"

Stiles looked away, exhaling the nervous breath in his chest. "It was just… something my dad said." He felt strangely anxious, not even sure why this even popped into his mind.

"Sometimes," Danny finally answered, his shoulders relaxing slightly when he realized that he was not trying to be rude or annoying, but that he really wanted to know. "Beacon Hills is surprisingly tolerant than most places, which makes me one of the lucky ones, I guess,"

"Tolerant," he repeated quietly. There was that word again, but it held quite a different meaning in this context and Stiles decided he hated it. People should have no reason to _tolerate_ Danny or anyone like him. He should be accepted regardless of who he liked. "Do… do the guys on the team ever…"

Danny sent him a sad smile. "It makes some of them uncomfortable," he admitted. "They never say anything, but when we're in the locker room, some of them just…" He shrugged helplessly, not needing to finish. "They slip up some times when they're talking, throwing around words that are offensive, but I know they don't mean anything by it."

"… Does it ever make you angry?"

"Of course it does," Danny grinned wryly, quirking an eyebrow. "It pisses me off every time I hear them mouthing off. It makes me want to hurt them for their ignorance, for making me feel like... like there's something wrong with me."

Stiles winced. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Danny only smiled at him, a genuine one this time. "I know that. I try not to let anything they say get to me, because I know they just don't think before they speak sometimes. And regardless if me being gay makes them uncomfortable or not, none of them have ever hesitated to defend me against the other teams we've played against, because there are places much less accepting than here."

"That's good," he nodded. "I'm glad that they have your back."

Danny was quiet for a moment. "You mind if I ask what your dad said that made you ask?" he inquired curiously, but for some reason Stiles felt his stomach drop at the question even though he had been expecting it. He hesitated to answer because… because he just didn't… want to answer it.

It was just an offhand comment. He had no idea why it had even stuck with him these past few days, especially given the fact that he may or may not have a snake beast stalking him and he had a disagreeable alpha werewolf trying to protect him from it. Not to mention all of the little werecubs misbehaving and breaking into his house had been distracting him.

There was just something about the way his father was looking at Stiles when he was saying that he could talk to him about anything that his mind had clung to though. They hadn't really had a deep meaningful conversation in a long time, not one where they both actually sat down and just unloaded _everything_ for hours until they got it all out.

In their brief conversations lately, Stiles could not recall mentioning anything that might lead his father to believe he was anything but a completely heterosexual teenage boy with an attention disorder and no ability to sit still for more than two minutes at a time. He had never given his father any indication that he ever liked anyone other than Lydia either… right?

"Just…" Stiles began haltingly, trying not to bite down on his lip lest he cause it to bleed again. "Just that—" He was cut off by the bell ringing and Mr. Harris trying to get some quick words in about homework as everyone hurried to gather their belongings. "Never mind, Danny," he said hastily, grateful for the interruption.

Danny called his name, but he pretended that he couldn't hear it over the loud chatter of the rest of their peers as he hurried to catch up with Scott. He was a big believer in ignoring awkward conversations until everyone just forgot about it, so he would just leave it alone and hopefully Danny would forget about it entirely over the weekend.

School continued on uneventful for the most part. He had noticed that he had acquired some new shadows during his lunch period; he had first noticed that he was being watched when he made to take the empty seat at the table that Allison and Lydia were sitting at out of habbit. It was where he usually sat now adays, to relay the honey sweet messages from his best friend.

Erica had intercepted him though, appearing out of nowhere and throwing her arm around his shoulder as if she was suddenly the closest person in the world to him. He had become the center of attention instantaneously, the subject of many jealous stares from most of the male population and a few of the females too who had been lured in by the she-wolf. She hadn't said anything to him, not one word; she simply marched his unwilling self over to the table that Boyd had claimed as his own.

Stiles had nothing against Boyd really, because he seemed to be taking the whole transformation much the same way Scott had. No major ego trip, but a quiet sort of confidence that suited him. He did, however, shy away from Erica once she released him, but her hand had settled on his thigh, her human appendages way too close to a certain part of his anatomy for his comfort.

"My alpha said that you aren't allowed near Lydia Martin," she had whispered quietly to him, an edge to her voice that let him know that she would do everything in her power to make him obey. She had smiled sweetly, only withdrawing once she was sure he received the message.

Needless to say, lunch had been a very awkward experience. He paid more attention after that, realizing that both of them seemed to be keeping tabs on him when his best friend was absent. He was not entirely sure how to take it, but he had made an agreement so he said nothing when he found himself wedged between them during his next few classes.

Detention had been by far the worst part of his day though. Harris had taken his bag the moment it began, taking away _everything._ He could handle being constantly belittled by a man he had no respect for, because the opinion of a high school chemistry teacher who bullied him meant squat to him. But it was torture for him to be forced to sit idle in silence for a full hour and a half.

Stiles needed distractions. His mind had a tendency to drift, so when there was nothing else to concentrate on, he became very agitated. He needed music to fill the silence, he needed several books strewn out in front of him that he could rifle through, he needed an energy drink because he was exhausted and unable to sit still, and he needed a handful of his medication to help him focus.

It was cruel and unusual punishment to deprive him of it all.

Moments had ticked by with agonizing slowness, but soon he was retrieving his bag from the demented teacher and rushing down the hallway. Stiles emerged from the school, only to freeze the moment he saw who was waiting in the circle drive. He should have been expecting it really, but he had figured the ride had been a onetime deal.

Derek was looking just as unapproachable as he had this morning. His arms were crossed over his chest, his shades drawn and obscuring his eyes and everything about his stance seemed relaxed enough, but there was just a presence about him that repelled the curious students lingering in the parking lot from going near him.

"You're late," the man said sharply, anger apparent in his tone.

Stiles winced a bit. "Detention," he supplied sullenly, wondering just how long the werewolf had been waiting how here to pick him up. "Is this going to be a normal occurrence? Not that I'm complaining or anything, because it definitely beats having to walk all the way home, and seriously, _this car_. But you—"

"Until we find the kanima," Derek cut him off, surprisingly forthcoming.

It was difficult to accept the sudden change in his persona. He had still been gruff and domineering this morning at the diner, but he had also been oddly pleasant to be around. The man had bought him breakfast and had been strangely comforting when they broached a sensitive topic. He had even been… nice.

Stiles was not entirely sure what to make of it. He wanted to believe that this new development was permanent, but it was very difficult to trust people who abruptly changed perspective so easily. In his experience, it was usually something to be cautious about, even though he was secretly eager to see more of the nice Derek from this morning who was willing to share secrets instead of being vague and evasive.

"Get in."

Stiles nodded at the short order and obeyed, easing comfortably into the plush seat. He loved this car, especially since he got to ride in the front. It sure ran more smoothly than his run downed old jeep, but not enough that he would ever give his baby up, even if Derek offered him a ride to school for life. He watched absently as the man began to walk around the front of the car while he began rooting around his bag for the energy drink he was in desperate need for.

Taking a long sip of the sugary beverage, Stiles sighed in contentment. He had been craving it for over an hour, the tiredness from lack of energy seeping into his consciousness. It had been another long night of staring at his ceiling, so he needed the sugar rush. He took another sip, and then another, but he then sputtered when the aluminum can was suddenly jerked out of his hands.

"Hey!" he protested, trying to grab it.

Derek pulled out of his reach with ease since he was still partially outside of the vehicle. He didn't acknowledge his protests, instead bringing the can close to his face as he inhaled. He immediately recoiled, air rushing out of his nose in something akin to a sneeze or the way a dog reacts when it smells something unpleasant.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, and Stiles was a bit startled by the almost angry tone, flinching back before he could stop himself. He was scowling at the drink as if it had just committed an offense. "It was making your heart beat faster."

"Energy drink," Stiles said warily. "It is supposed to do that."

Derek narrowed his eyes. "You're not drinking anymore of these," he said, his voice having a hint of finality to it. He enforced his words by pouring the contents of the can out onto the road, then crushing the can with the barest twitch of his fingers. He finished by throwing the crumpled mess into a trashcan over ten feet away with perfect accuracy. "Ever."

Stiles gaped at him. "Oh, come on!"

"No wonder you never sit still," Derek muttered to himself as he finally slid into the car. "Your heart is trying to explode." He gave him a sharp look. "Buckle your seatbelt."

Stiles crossed his arms petulantly.

" _Stiles_ ," he said lowly. "Quit being difficult."

"Quit being an ass," he retorted, immediately regretting it when Derek released an admittedly impressive growl, one that reverberated throughout the whole car and made his teeth rattle. He cringed when he saw the eyes glow bright red, pushing back against the door of the car to put some distance between them.

Stiles knew intellectually that Derek had never actually hurt him.

There was that one time with the steering wheel, but admittedly, it had been done with less force than Scott punched him on the shoulder with sometimes and it hadn’t even left a bruise. Derek threatened him with bodily harm, but those were just _words._ However, that was before he became the alpha, before something dark and utterly terrifying lurked beneath those pale green eyes.

Therefore, unlike all of the other times that Derek had invaded his personal space to merely deliver a threat that would never actually be followed through, this time Stiles had an overwhelming sense of fear when the man suddenly twisted in his seat. He moved quicker than human eyes could follow, leaning in close and looming over him.

Stiles turned his head to the side instinctively and clenched his eyes shut to block the sight of sharp fangs and chilling eyes, his body trembling as he felt the heat emanating from Derek as their chests brushed together briefly. He could feel the hot breath against his neck as the man inhaled and exhaled; he was on the verge of panicking, his hands heart pounding and his throat feeling abnormally tight.

For one long, petrifying moment the werewolf lingered where he was.

Derek slowly eased himself away. "Stiles," he said quietly, something akin to shock inside his voice. He said nothing else for what felt like a long time, and when he finally pulled away completely, there was a yielding pressure against Stiles' chest as the seatbelt was drawn taut over him followed by the soft click as it was locked into place.

The car roared to life a moment later and then they were moving.

Stiles managed to calm down enough to finally open his eyes. He blinked several times as he tried to regain his breath, flattening his sweaty palms against his jeans as he stared out of the window as everything began to speed by. He had no idea what just happened, and trying to make sense of it in his head only made him more confused.

When he chanced a sidelong glance at his companion, Derek was clenching and unclenching his hands around the steering wheel, which looked as if it would disintegrate at the pressure any given moment, and his jaw was impossibly tight. He looked angry and… oddly upset by what just happened.

"Are…" Stiles began hesitantly, biting down on his bottom lip. "Are you okay?"

Derek released a short, bitter laugh that was completely devoid of humor. " _Me?_ Am _I_ okay?" He continued to stare straight ahead of him, eyes never deviating from the road as he sped through the streets. He exhaled harshly, his fingers flexing again.

Neither of them said another word for the whole ride.

Stiles wanted to remain apprehensive at first, but there was just something about the way the older man had sounded a moment ago. He found himself easing back into the chair, internally questioning whether or not this had to do with whatever set Derek off this morning when Mrs. Dawson had been leering or if it was something else entirely.

Pulling into the driveway ten minutes later should have made him beyond relieved to get away. Stiles should want to dash out of the car, lock the doors, and up the stairs where he could hide out in his werewolf proofed room until he was sure that the danger had passed. But had there ever even been any danger to begin with?

Derek had growled at him. He had sounded angry and annoyed, but that was all he had done. He had been reaching for the seatbelt, not going for his throat. He had been trying to keep him safe. But Stiles had panicked, had been completely terrified in that one moment. He was unsure if it had been an actual panic attack or if he had just been on the cusp of one.

Either way, he owed Derek an apology.

Stiles hesitated to get out of the car when it idled. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, feeling as if the words were inadequate to describe how ashamed he felt for the unwarranted reaction. He watched the werewolf carefully, surprised when his eyes widened slightly.

Derek turned his head finally, looking at him. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said indifferently, but his hands eased on the steering wheel and gave him away. "I… I'm the one who…" He frowned deeply, looking quite uncomfortable. "You were scared."

"… Yes," Stiles admitted unnecessarily, not sure what else to say. "You're not as in control as you pretend to be… are you?" It was perhaps a bit unwise to question it, but he was surprised when Derek met his eyes calmly.

"No," he said candidly. "No I'm not."

Stiles reached over hesitantly, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay," He had no idea why he did it. He usually tried to avoid touching him unless he had to. It had never gone over so well in the past either, but the man only glanced down at the hand this time and stared at it blankly.

"I hope that…" Derek began quietly, his eyes darting to the side. "You can believe me when I say that I wasn't going to… hurt you."

Stiles studied him. He wanted to be reassuring; he wanted to tell him that he had just overreacted and that he knew he would never actually hurt him. However, it was impossible to lie to a werewolf, and Stiles honestly had no idea if the words would be truthful or not. So instead he just nodded his head.

"I'll take the wolfsbane down in a little bit," he told him.

Derek just nodded, looking more composed. "That should be fine," he agreed. "Leave your window open to air it out and we should be able to enter without any problems by tomorrow afternoon. For tonight, we will be circling the perimeter."

"Okay," Stiles opened the door and exited the vehicle, pausing momentarily before he could close it. "Do you think tomorrow would be a good time to answer some questions? I have a whole bunch that I meant to ask before…"

Derek nodded again. "Tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me difficulties :(


	6. Lifelong Commitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek sighed heavily, wondering what he had got himself into.

### Lifelong Commitment

It happened purely by chance.

Derek would have never even noticed it had he been human. Even so he had a feeling that he would have missed it still had he not been concentrating most of his effort toward his sense of hearing. He was slightly out of breath, having been on a lengthy, enervating run throughout the forest; he had left at some point before lunch, needing the chance to exert some energy and aggression without the presence of his pack closing in on him.

It had worked wonderfully to break away from everything, even for just a moment, and the day was nearly through now. He had been on his own for so long that it was difficult to include anyone. He had never even let Laura run with him except on the full moon, and that was only because his big sister would eventually bully him into it. He felt much calmer now, no longer as angry and upset as he'd been the previous day.

Stiles may be good at concealing lies within a web of truth, but his scent was the only thing that he could not control. It was different from the previous times they had been in close proximity, where Derek was annoyed and unable to push down his more hostile attitude. The boy had always smelled of caution, of just the barest hint of fear even when he was staring the wolf down in the face with a quirky comment.

Derek could concede that he had been a bit too forceful. He had been irritated about the energy drink, because it was not healthy, especially not with his current eating habits, and at the rate the boy seemed to be consuming those revolting things, his heart would give out before he reached his twenties. His anger had got the best of him, but he had honestly only reached over him intending to secure the seatbelt himself.

Nothing could have prepared him for the honest terror that clouded his senses. He had been leaning over him in order to reach the belt, which gave him the perfect chance to scent the astringent smell pouring off of the teen. It had shocked him beyond anything, leaving him reeling, because for all of his threats and constant irritation, he had never thought someone who _knew_ _him_ would be that scared of him.

Derek could not be sure why the fact that Stiles feared him upset him so much. He would not say that he was hurt by it, but it made his gut twist uncomfortably. He would have thought that after everything that had happened these past few months, of all the times he had fought to protect the boy, that he would have faith that Derek meant no real harm to him. But apparently he had been correct in his statement the other day about not trusting each other, even though he had not been entirely truthful at the time.

It was almost impossible _not_ to trust Stiles after he continued to prove himself again and again. There had been times when Derek had been completely vulnerable, forced to rely on his assistance to stay alive. The pool incident was perhaps just the most recent in a long sequence of similar occurrences; the time he had been shot with the wolfsbane bullet came to mind.

Stiles had been his second choice at the time. He had gone in search of a fellow wolf initially, mainly because his own experiences with humans had made him wary of approaching anyone else, but he had eventually figured that there had to be a reason why McCall depended so heavily on the boy and sought him out instead.

It had turned out to be the best decision; for all that Stiles may have complained and argued the entire time, his scent had belied every word, concern and panic emanating from his pores as he desperately tried to help. He had even willing to cut off his arm despite his apparent aversion to blood if it meant keeping him alive.

Another instance was when Derek had been on the run from the police, hunters, and his rabid uncle all at once. He had nowhere else to run, nowhere to hide and nowhere to let his guard down even for just a moment to rest, and the boy had not hesitated to grant him complete access to his home. He also owed Stiles a lifetime of debts for his invaluable assistance in defeating his uncle… and the Hale Pack always repaid their debts.

Derek felt as if he had a responsibility to watch out for him.

The last thing on his mind would be to ever cause him any real harm intentionally. He was always conscious of his strength when he was around Stiles, making sure never to shove him too hard or use more than the human equivalent when he got annoyed. He was trying to protect him, not hurt him… the fact that Stiles was fearful of him now only made him wonder what he had done to make the boy think otherwise.

Outside of the Stilinski household now, he had been contemplating a way to broach the subject more delicately given these new circumstances. He had been unsure what to say the day before, but after having some time to consider it, he thought that perhaps leaving things the way they were would be unwise. He couldn't very well protect Stiles if he was scared of him.

It was then Derek heard it, momentarily distracted from seeking out the guard he had placed to watch over the house. It was a vaguely familiar sound, one that he had difficulty placing. A slight _click,_ followed by and faint _whir_ and a noise that was purely artificial, like a _beep._ He thought perhaps it had been a camera some sort of.

Derek felt his spine stiffened immediately, turning around quickly to glance at the edge of the forest. He could see nothing in the distance beyond the tall trees and wild shrubbery, but he had the distinct feeling he was being watched. His eyes burned with fury as he watched carefully, hoping to see some sign of movement.

The sound would have been almost _just_ out of his range under normal circumstances, but with his new abilities and the fact that he was consciously focusing on his hearing in order to stay in control of himself, he heard it easily. He could not determine where the sound had come from or see any dark shapes moving unnaturally in the woods, and bared his teeth in frustration.

It could have easily been someone taking photographs in their own home, but his sensed gave him the feeling he had been the subject of this particular image. He exhaled harshly against the urgency that suddenly gripped his mind. He could already see the gloss of dark, course hair thickening on his arms in the low afternoon light, could feel his teeth ache and his eyes scorch.

Derek wanted nothing more than to detach from his failing restraint. He wanted to hunt the culprit who dared to try and catch him unawares down, to tear into their flesh and shred them apart, repercussions be damned. He was visibly shaking with the need to do it, to allow the madness to take him over. He thought then he understood why Stiles had been fearful of him; he obviously saw what he was trying so hard to keep buried.

"Derek?"

Isaac crept out of the shadows of the house, looking at him uncertainly. "You can feel it too?" he asked in a quiet voice. He shuddered slightly when red eyes bore into him, silently demanding an explanation. He looked away, peering out from the dark bush he had apparently taken up for the day, his own eyes glowing gold in the late morning light. "It's like… someone is watching us."

Derek forced his palms flat and closed his eyes, concentrating on the heartbeat he could hear on the second floor above them. He controlled the shift, finally calming down after a long pause. "Yes," he confirmed, turning to cast his own eyes back out toward the tree line. He could still see nothing out of the ordinary; whoever it was had gone.

"Is it…" Isaac whispered a hint of healthy fear in his voice. "Is it the kanima?" He had been surprisingly compliant when it was decided he would be the one to guard Stiles throughout the night. He was the best candidate considering he had so much free time on his hands now that he could not attend school like the others or parents to appease.

"No," Derek told him evenly. "No, someone was out there with a camera. Probably the hunters," He had known they were searching for him, as they were not as inconspicuous as they thought they were. He had seen the traps around his home and could smell them inside of it. He had smelt the foreign stench of metal, grease and poison and had been avoiding his own property ever since.

There had been quite a few new scents moving into the town ever since Gerard Argent had arrived as well. Many were obviously seasoned hunters, older and capable, but there were several that the smell of adolescence still clung to. He supposed some of the younger ones, the children, were ignorant of why they had moved here, but the teenagers on the cusp of adulthood were most likely learning and would probably be attending school with his pack soon.

It made him uneasy.

"What do they want with Stiles?" Isaac asked him, turning back to look at the open window just above. "He's human… they don't… they don't think he is like us… do they?"

Derek only shook his head. "I doubt it would matter to them," he said heavily, placing one hand on the young wolf's shoulder. "Associating with us is just as condemning in their eyes, so regardless or not if they even bother to verify he is human, he will still be in danger just because he has been seen with us."

It was the truth. Stiles or any other humans who were known to the hunters as their allies would be considered collateral damage. He had learned that the hard way, when his completely human cousins and uncle had been burned alive inside their home. Human or not, Stiles would be shown no mercy should the hunters ever capture him because he allied himself with wolves.

… All the more reason to ensure that nothing happened to him.

Isaac winced slightly, looking down at his shoes with a guilty expression. He was probably the most timid out of the three. He had definitely allowed the transformation to go to his head in the beginning, still acting arrogant and assertive in the presence of his fellow pack mates or strangers even now, especially the females, but he was more himself when they were alone.

"I thought it was just my imagination, that I had worked myself up too much," the young man muttered apologetically, rubbing his arm absently; it was the one that had recently been broken. "I thought someone was watching earlier too, but it was just a feeling and it disappeared and I couldn't see or hear anything," He looked up earnestly. "I promise I would have called if—"

Derek really despised himself at the moment. "Calm down," he told him gently, inwardly cursing when the boy immediately snapped his mouth shut, obeying the command with a small wince. "Whoever it is concealed themselves from even me; you did nothing wrong. You just need to learn to trust your instincts."

Isaac raised his eyes a bit, still looking unsure. "I will," he promised. He was quiet for a bit longer, allowing the older wolf to listen for any sign that the hunters were still present, but he eventually broke the silence. "Stiles had trouble sleeping last night," he told him quietly. "He was on his computer for hours. He fell asleep once or twice for a while, but he… woke up crying. He has been sleeping since school ended though...”

There was no real way to protect someone from nightmares. He had suspected that it was nightmares depriving the boy of sleep, but it was not at all satisfying to learn how right he was.

"… He brought me dinner last night," Isaac added a second later, a hint of bewilderment in his voice as he tilted his head. He gave him a questioning look, as if perhaps he could explain the great mysteries that came with being acquainted with Stiles Stilinski. "He lowered it out of his window on a tray suspended by a rope."

Derek was sorely tempted to laugh. He could very easily visualize what it must have looked like to see the tray, so it was not at all surprising. "You did what I asked, right? How did he react this morning?"

Isaac flushed slightly, a pleased smile on his face. "There was a lot of cursing… he has a lot of… _inventive_ nicknames for you," He snickered a bit. "He also said something about hunting you down and using your werewolf pelt as a fur coat during the winter. He then told Scott that he would give it to Lydia Martin for her birthday."

Derek only rolled his eyes. "You found all of them?"

"Yes," Isaac nodded. "Even the ones he had in the garage. They were easy to sniff out because… well… I don't like the way they smell," he admitted, giving him a curious look, but shrugged it off a moment later. "Do you want me to go check the perimeter again? Maybe see if I can pick up the scent of whoever was watching?"

"No," He shook his head. "No, that would just be a waste of time. It is impossible to tell where they were, and they're already long gone by now. I would rather you just go home and get some rest. Erica will be coming around in a few hours to help you go over the material you missed in school this week."

Isaac pulled a face at the mention of school work. He had made it no secret that he would rather just be learning more of the history of lycanthropy and he was eager to learn it too, but Derek refused to let him fall behind on his human studies. He intended for the boy to return to school eventually, once they figured out a way to clear his name for the murder of his father.

"Get going."

"Yes, alpha," Isaac said obediently. He glanced around cautiously, and then smoothly slinked between two houses, disappearing from sight.

Derek stared after him with surprised eyes. He knew that Erica and Isaac referred to him by the title on occasion, but it still startled him to hear it. He had never ordered them to call him that, so he was a bit taken aback by it. He was the alpha, yes, but his parents had never enforced such formalities in the past and neither had Laura when she had inherited the position.

Perhaps it had to do with their instincts.

Derek could recall the few in the pack that had not been related by blood; they had always been formal to his parents and even most of his family. He had always just assumed that it was a show of respect, but there may be more to it than that if his new pack was doing the same without having been instructed to. Derek would have to look into it more when he had the chance, maybe even seek out another alpha for guidance.

Maybe one of his family's old allies would even know more about the kanima beast, or at the very least, how to identify one. He had searched the pool area yesterday while waiting for Stiles to finish up with his detention, but he had found no traces of the creature, so his one idea to maybe somehow use any residual venom to test his suspects was useless unless he could get a sample of the paralytic substance.

Derek would contemplate it further at another time. For now he would just continue to protect the spastic teenager who seemed to be the focus of the reptilian monster's attention. He frowned when he heard Stiles speak as he scaled the wall quietly, mumbling words under his breath that seemed to be in a foreign language of some sort.

Inside of the house was a bit suffocating.

There was still an overwhelming scent of wolfsbane still permeating the air like a dense fog, but it was not quite as prominent as it had been yesterday. He slipped into the bedroom with ease, leaving the window open in hopes that the foul smell would dissipate sooner.

Derek was a bit surprised to find the teenager face first in the bed, breathing low and even with just the slightest hint of a snore. He was wearing day old clothes, having obviously not bothered to change considering he had been up for the majority of the night. His scent was still off, the hint of fatigue not abating despite the rest.

Books and loose papers were strewn all around the boy, the soft glow of his laptop screen casting colorful lines on his youthful face from the screensaver. Some of the papers were written in another language, while others appeared to be partial translations. Several words had been crossed out with pen, substitutions written above them in a tiny scrawl.

Derek approached the bed silently and lifted one such page up to study.

It was the bestiary as he had suspected; apparently Stiles was making some progress on the section regarding the kanima. He had to admit that it was impressive. He could not even fathom how much effort it would take to translate an unknown language like that even given enough time, and Stiles had made such headway in only a few short days.

A quiet sound caught his attention and he looked up sharply. He frowned deeply as another string of incomprehensible syllables escaped Stiles' lips breathlessly, the boy shaking his head with a fitful twitch. His body convulsed slightly as his hands fisted the blankets beneath him, his heart beating a bit faster now.

Stiles had a frown forming between his brows, a small whimper escaping his lips while a cold sweat began to secrete from his pores. "No," he breathed out heavily, salt in the air as his eyes clenched even tighter together, that one word full of so much pleading and horror that it spurred the wolf into action.

Derek reached for him hesitantly, his hand hovering with uncertainty before he could actually make contact. He had not comforted someone in a long time; he was unsure what to do exactly, but considering the reaction he had received yesterday, he wondered if it would be best not to touch him at all. He heard the plea again and pushed away his reservations, placing his hand on the trembling shoulder.

"Stiles," he said carefully, wanting to wake him without startling him too much. He found himself climbing onto the bed for better access as the boy only twisted violently, rolling onto his back and thrashing as if he were warding off an attack. "Stiles," he tried again, catching the flailing wrists gently in his hands.

"Please," Stiles cried out helplessly. "Please…"

Suddenly the boy turned his head to the side in a way that bared his neck so invitingly to the wolf, taking Derek momentarily off guard. The begging seemed to take on another meaning altogether with that single movement, trapped in his grasp and so vulnerable, unconsciously appealing to every new instinct inside of the beast.

It was difficult to ignore the pale column of the throat presented to him, several buttons of the plaid shirt having come undone during the struggle to keep him from hurting himself. His skin was smooth, fair in a way that resembled fine porcelain, but more pliable and yielding, dotted with soft brown speckles that disappeared down into the shirt.

Derek growled deep in his chest and pressed fragile wrists down into the bed as he shifted closer. His mouth ached as his teeth lengthened almost as encouragement to sink his fangs into the supple flesh laid out so welcomingly before him. He was tempted to do it too, to bend down and press his mouth over the junction of the shoulder, clamping down hard and refusing to release him until the infection took and spread through his bloodstream.

… Make him _his._

Stiles would make a magnificent wolf. He had already proven time and time again that he could take care of the pack. His every action dedicated to caring for others in fact. He would offer them comfort and guidance in ways that Derek could not. He already had the loyalty of Scott and Isaac on his side, and the others would learn to respect him in time. He would be safer too, more able to protect himself against the threat of hunters and the kanima, fight alongside him instead of from the sidelines.

Derek leaned in slowly with red tinged eyes staring at the alluring neckline, breathing in the scent as he inched closer; the scent was dark and heavy with just a hint of dispair. He stilled in one instant, the reality of what he was about to do slamming into him like a violent blow to the chest. He exhaled roughly, every muscle in his body seizing in place as his eyes widened.

Stiles shuddered beneath him, weak protest escaping him, still in the throes of his ghoulish nightmare and completely unaware of the fact that Derek had nearly broken his trust by forcing the bite on him. He closed his eyes against the sight, warring with himself to pull away before he could actually do it.

Violently withdrawing at inhuman speeds, Derek nearly impacted with the bookshelf in the corner of the room. He was out of breath, his heart thrumming as if he had just run at full speed for another eight hours. He was shaking with the effort to contain himself. How had trying to wake the boy from a nightmare, to possibly even comfort him even, turned into _that?_

Derek would have changed him without his permission.

It was something Derek had promised himself he would never do. His uncle had bitten random strangers without remorse, but if there could ever be one thing to separate himself from the man that had betrayed him, it would be to make sure everyone who turned was fully aware of what was happening to them and be willing regardless of the consequences.

The implications of _where_ he had nearly bitten Stiles were not lost on him either. He flushed with embarrassment, trying to remain calm under the circumstances. He had to remind himself that it was just instinct. His senses were all screwed up enough with his new abilities, that everything was completely unbalanced because of what his uncle did to…

Derek shook his head violently to rid himself of the reminder. He had not grieved exactly after that night, which is probably why he had… why the thought of biting him had been so… He shook his head again. This was insanity. Why was he even trying to rationalize it? Nothing had happened so there was nothing to think about. He forced it all to the back of his mind, the sound of the erratic heartbeat penetrating his senses once more.

This time instead of approaching and risking a repeat of what just happened, Derek remained where he was on the far side of the room. He crossed his arms in an attempt to disguise the claws he couldn't manage to make retract, but at least his eyes were no longer aching and his mouth had returned to normal.

"Stiles!" he called loudly, and this time the sharp tone was enough to draw the boy out of his unpleasant sleep. "Stiles wake up. You're having a nightmare," He knew the moment the boy became fully aware, because his entire body tensed.

Stiles breathed rapidly, his breaths coming in deep gasps. "Derek?" he questioned uncertainly, turning slightly to peer around with bleary eyes. He stared at him in confusion for a moment, a frown forming on his face as he drew himself up onto his elbows. He then released a tired groan and flopped back down, wincing as he landed on a book. "What are _you_ doing here so early? Don't you have a den to sleep in far, far away from here?"

Derek went from slightly overwhelmed to uncontrollably irritate in less than three seconds. "… It's seven o'clock," he said dryly, feeling much more in control now that the boy was awake… and annoying him. “At night…”

Stiles made a noise of acknowledgement, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Still too early, my nap didn’t last near long enough," he muttered sullenly. "Need caffeine, mass amounts of it in fact." He sat up quickly in an instant, turning to glare tiredly at him. "You! You stole all of my energy drinks! I went to get one earlier, and they were all _gone!_ "

"Your point being?"

Stiles sputtered indignantly, apparently not awake enough to come up with a witty retort about how Derek was a thief and a bossy sour wolf that he wanted to turn into a fur coat. Shame, because it probably would have been entertaining.

Derek raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching. "When you're finished gawking, come downstairs and we'll have that talk."

Downstairs the smell of poison was much less present. It made him breathe much easier; he thought that perhaps what had transpired previously had just been an adverse reaction to the lingering wolfsbane. He knew well enough how it could cause strange hallucinations and delusions if exposed to it for too long. He figured that was the likeliest explanation and decided to leave it at that.

Considering the house only held two men, it was surprisingly clean. The kitchen was small and quaint, but appeared well used if the scents lingering were any indication. It smelled more of Stiles than the sheriff, which was a bit unexpected because Stiles did not seem patient enough to be a good cook. He took a seat at the table and waited.

Stiles came bounding in a while later. He had changed into a fresh shirt and a new pair of jeans, his feet bare as he padded across the hardwood floor toward the refrigerator. He scanned the contents with a bored expression, grumbling under his breath about his energy drinks once more, but eventually extracted a small pitcher of some herbal scented brown liquid.

"Do you want some?" he asked, pouring himself a glass. "It's just sweet tea," He apparently took Derek's silence as acquiescence because he retrieved a second glass from the cabinet and filled it as well, placing it in front of him before he took the other seat. He had set a nondescript notebook on the table and flipped about midway through.

"Are you really going to take notes?" Derek asked incredulously.

Stiles looked up at him bleakly. "Do you know how many different books and websites I've looked at regarding this shit?" he retorted. "It would be nice to keep my facts straight, and organized into myths and rumors and actual facts instead of getting them confused with something inaccurate.”

Derek had to concede that he had a point.

"Fine," he said shortly. "Where did you want to start?" He grimaced when he realized the boy had written a _list_ of questions in that notebook of his.

Stiles scanned his page, tapping his pen against the paper anxiously. "Since it is basically what got me into this whole mess, I thought maybe we could begin with the bite," he said reasonably, but Derek inwardly groaned at his choice of topic.

Out of everything the boy could ask, he _would_ pick the one topic that Derek was trying not to think about. "What about it? We bite someone and either they turn or they die. What else do you want to know about it?"

"It has to be an alpha though, right?" Stiles questioned in place of answering. "Not just any werewolf is capable of administering _the_ bite, are they?"

"Only an alpha can infect someone, yes."

"Scott and Lydia were both bitten on their sides," He waited until he received the corresponding nod before continuing. "Scott also mentioned that you bit Boyd on his side. I was just wondering why there…? Does it have any significance? I mean, does it like," He shrugged a bit. "Does the infection spread better? Is it a prime biting location or something?"

Derek sighed heavily, wondering just what he had gotten himself into. "Traditionally, when we bite to turn someone, we place the bite somewhere easily concealed to avoid arousing suspicion. So yes, the midsection is an ideal location." He raised an eyebrow curiously when Stiles began scribbling something down in his notebook. "Your little book isn't going to end up on the internet, is it?"

Stiles only rolled his eyes. "Oh ye of little faith," he said. "What about the wrist? What does it mean when—" The boy cut himself off when Derek suddenly straightened up in his seat and leaned over the table with a serious expression.

"What the hell did McCall do?"

"… So it does mean something," Stiles said, eyeing him cautiously. He leaned further back in his own chair, reminiscent of the way he had so violently recoiled against the door in the car yesterday.

Derek was ashamed when he scented the fear in the air. "Yes," he admitted, trying to keep his voice indifferent as he also tried to appear less threatening. "What did he do to the Argent girl? Did he bite her wrist?"

Stiles made a reluctant face. "… Define bite,"

"I define it as _biting her on the wrist_."

"… Oh, when you put it that way…" he stalled. "Yes?"

Derek slammed his hands down on the table with a harsh breath uncontrollably, his eyes flashing with anger. He tried to fight his initial urge to hunt the wayward wolf down and strangle him. "That… presents a problem," he said as calmly as he could manage, looking up at Stiles when he began to stutter out explanations.

"It was just a little nip on the wrist," he told him quickly, his head jerking awkwardly as he twitched away. "Come on, it can't be that bad right? He didn't even break the skin!" He released a curse at the prolonged silence, slouching in his chair. "It's that bad, isn't it? He told me that he felt like he should, like he—"

"Needed to," Derek finished for him, suddenly feeling exhausted with the whole situation. He did not need this. He almost regretted bringing Scott into his pack knowing what was happening, because he had not anticipated it at all. In hindsight, he probably should have, because Scott was every bit as stupid as he had been when he was that age.

Figures it would be with a girl from the same family too.

"Yeah," Stiles nodded, leaning forward with an eager yet suspicious expression. "That was pretty much _exactly_ what he said. That he _needed_ to bite her, especially on the wrist…"

"It's a claiming bite."

"Claiming? Like…?"

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Your idiot friend is claiming her as his intended mate," he explained tersely, trying to think of a way to explain the complicities properly. "It is the initial stage of a courtship. A bite on the wrist is the… in human terms, I suppose it would be the equivalent of… an engagement ring."

There was a strange blip in the heartbeat that momentarily distracted him. Stiles had paused in his frantic scribbling to write down every detail; he seemed frozen. His pulse was steadily rising, the frown on his face deepening as his eyes moved rapidly back and forth.

"A claim is the precursor to…" Derek faltered a bit over his own words, averting his eyes from the long neck in front of him as he tried to keep his voice unaffected. "To a mating bite, which is placed on... on the neck. Both a claiming and a mating bite have to be consensual otherwise the bond won't fully take." He clenched his teeth together, waiting for the moment the flood of words would be spilling out with unending questions.

Stiles had not moved a muscle though. His body was drawn taut, his usually expressive face oddly blank as he stared unseeingly at his abandoned pen. He did not react even when his name was called, his pulse seemingly even swifter than before. He flinched slightly when Derek reached over to prod him, glancing around as if he had forgotten where he was.

"… Always?" the boy inquired, lifting his eyes guardedly.

Derek frowned in confusion. "What?"

"It has to be the wrist?"

"Yes," Derek nodded slowly. "Claiming marks are always placed on the wrist. It is still easily concealed, but visible enough to ward away unwanted suitors."

"But it doesn't…" Stiles cleared his throat, his shoulders tense. "Is it always the wrist? What if…" he hesitated; his voice lowered until it was difficult to hear even with the enhanced hearing abilities. "What if you were just giving someone the bite to turn them? It would disappear in a few days anyway when the infection took hold, right? So it doesn't _have_ to mean anything…"

"A bite on the wrist is never taken so lightly," Derek told him, uncertain why the boy suddenly looked stricken. He frowned at the ever increasing heart rate. "We would never bite someone on the wrist unless it was to initiate a courtship with a mate."

Stiles swallowed nervously. "… A mate," he repeated dully. "So you… you guys really do have one destined mate then? That part was actually true?"

Alarm washed over Derek with each halted syllable. He felt oddly dismayed, unsure what he had done to cause such distress in the boy. "Not entirely," he told him carefully, studying his face as if it might give him some clues as to what was going on. "There is no _destined_ mate. We choose a person the same way anyone else would choose a companion, based on our attraction and compatibility."

Stiles released a strangled laugh, looking up at him a bit wildly. "Attraction and compatibility… right. That makes total sense, because why _wouldn't_ it be based on _attraction_ and _compatibility_ …"

Derek was not entirely sure what he meant. "Stiles…"

"So a mate…" the boy interrupted quickly, retaking his pen in hand. "It… is mating a bit like marriage? Some of my research said that werewolves mate for life… but that book also said that you eat your young, which is just—" He cringed at the thought. "Disgusting and not really good imagery because… _ick_."

"Eat our young," Derek scoffed at the ridiculous notion. "It was only right about mating for life. It is a lifelong commitment. Divorce is a completely unknown concept," He paused for a moment, releasing a pained breath before continuing. "Separation is possible. It is extraordinarily painful to be separated from a mate though."

Stiles frowned slightly. "Why would anyone want to be separated from their mate? You just said that it was a lifelong commitment…"

"I know what I said."

"Then…"

"Betrayal…" Derek told him quietly, looking down at his hands. "We can mate with humans, and just because it means something intense and intimate to a wolf doesn't mean the feelings are as deeply reciprocated…" He clenched his jaw, closing his eyes briefly. "They can betray you… hurt you… and utterly _devastate_ you…"

"… Derek…" Stiles said his name with a concerned frown etched into his features. His hand moved across the table slightly, almost as it had yesterday in the car when he had touched his arm. His fingers barely brushed his jacket before drawing back, comprehension suddenly clouding his eyes. "Kate," he breathed out. "That's how she—"

Derek snarled at the name, his eyes flashing red before he could stop it. "Don't say her name," he growled lowly, almost expecting the boy to draw away even further. He was surprised however when Stiles only inched his hand closer, eventually closing his warm palm over his tense forearm.

"Okay," he agreed calmly, his heartbeat swift but slowly lowering.

Derek considered him with dissecting eyes; the boy continued to surprise him by not reacting the way he expected him to. "… Lifelong commitment," he repeated lowly, inhaling the scents around him as he controlled his emotions. "It only ends with death… losing a mate is difficult to live with… most wolves go feral if their mates pass away… but sometimes…"

Stiles nodded in understanding. "Sometimes," he repeated softly.

"Sometimes we can move on," Derek told him, and there was something strangely satisfying in sharing something so painful with someone else. "Eventually even take a new mate." He had never spoken to anyone about what had transpired with him and Kate; he briefly wondered how Stiles even knew enough about it to come to the correct assumption. He only had his sister at that point, once the fire happened, and he had been too ashamed to admit to everything. That he had trusted someone so completely only to have it thrown in his face, that she had seduced and deceived him just to murder his family.

Kate had even honed in on that detail when she captured him last month. _Oh, sweetie_ , she had drawled, the husky voice that had once brightened his lonely days, mocking him even now that she was dead. _That's just a lot of guilt to keep buried._

Derek had been with no one since her. He had been incapable of betraying his commitment to her even though she had been the one to ultimately destroy him. Kate was dead now though, their connection severed the moment her heart stopped; he had no loyalty to her anymore, but she had left him irreparably damaged. He could only hope that Scott knew what he was getting himself into. He hoped that Allison Argent was nothing like her aunt, that she would not betray them all like Kate had, because if Scott really had begun a courtship with her…

Allison was part of their pack now.

Stiles swallowed thickly in front of him. "Maybe we should continue this another time…" he suggested gently, clicking his pen and flipping his notebook closed.

Derek nodded silently. He was preparing to stand and take his leave, maybe circle around the house for a perimeter check a few times and wait around for Isaac to return to relieve him in a few hours, when the boy surprised him again.

"Do you want to stay for a late lunch?" he asked hesitantly. "I need to go buy groceries soon, probably sometime tomorrow or Saturday even, but there is enough in the pantry to make a mac and cheese casserole…? It has bacon and ham in it, some sweet onions too, and lots of extra cheese. I promise it tastes good."

Derek gave him a curious look, about to decline when he remembered how little the boy had eaten at breakfast yesterday. He inhaled subtly, scenting the air. He could smell faint traces of mint toothpaste and some fruit that had probably been consumed around breakfast, but beyond that was only the herbal smell of the tea they had been drinking. He eased back into the chair.

Stiles looked at him briefly in surprise, long enough that Derek wondered if the offer had been genuine or just something to be polite. Then a slow smile appeared, but it was the devious smirk that followed that truly made Derek uneasy.

“Great!” Stiles said brightly. “You can chop the onions while I get the béchamel sauce ready and start the macaroni…” He began babbling out a list of ingredients as he moved knowingly around the kitchen, pulling them out of the cabinets along with a set of pots and pans.

Once again Derek wondered what he had just gotten himself into.


	7. An Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles had an idea though, and an idea was a very dangerous thing to have.

### An Idea

Time felt suspended as bright blue eyes stared at him calculatingly, something meaningful and tempestuous brimming beneath the surface like a devastating storm about to be unleashed. Fingers dug into the tender underside of his arm, not quite enough to bruise his fair skin, but definitely enough to remind him how weak he was in comparison.

Hot breath spilled over his vulnerable wrist as he hesitated; he was frozen, fear and indecision paralyzing his mind and his body. He was weak like this, so easily overcome and always cast aside until he was deemed useful. He could be special though, no longer watching as everything happened to someone else. He would be strong and capable, more able to protect the people he held close to his heart.

It was what he wanted and they both knew it.

Teeth began to lengthen, each tooth extending into long, dangerous canines proficient for shredding through flesh and crunching through bone. He tried to pull away, fearful as the blue eyes too began to change, gradually tinting red until they bled scarlet like the blood pumping quickly through his veins, but the grip merely tightened and held him in place as the fangs penetrated his skin.

Pain like never before surged throughout his body in an instant. It was agonizing and crippling, a fire borne from the bite on his wrist that spread through his arteries and began to burn him from the inside out. He could feel the moment the infection tried to take hold, his heart aflame and aching as he collapsed to the ground and screamed.

Through the scattered and pained thoughts, a single word cut through his cries, the growling voice echoing in his mind as he writhed against the concrete. " _Mine_."

Stiles vaulted upright in an instant, the erratic scream catching in his throat with a choked cry. He struggled with the blanket, feeling claustrophobic and confused, not entirely sure where he was. There were no sleek, shiny cars surrounding him, no concrete slabs for walls or painted lines on asphalt beneath him; instead he saw the pale blue walls of his bedroom, the posters scattered about his walls, and the absolute mess of research materials all around him.

It had only been a dream. His heart still raced, pounding a fierce rhythm in his chest from the lingering terror he felt. He exhaled a long breath, briefly closing his stinging eyes as he drew his legs in close. He curled his arms around them and rested his forehead against his knees, trying to push away the lingering horror and swallow the bile lodged in the back of his throat.

Nightmares were something Stiles was beginning to grow accustomed to lately. He had been dreaming of a lot of things recently, perhaps the most notable being that night with the mechanic, the pleas for help still ringing fresh in his ears. But he had not had a nightmare about the other time, when Lydia had been attacked and he had willingly gone with Peter Hale in exchange for her life, since it all happened.

Stiles expelled another harsh breath and pressed the heels of his hands against his burning eyes; he just wished everything would _stop_. He wanted to be able to sleep for more than three hours at a time without nightmares and memories overwhelming him. He wanted to be able to wake up without his cheeks feeling damp from tears and his throat raw from screaming. He felt like he was still there every time he closed his eyes, still weak and helpless to protect himself or the people around him.

Most of the events played out exactly how he remembered them, every detail drawn up by his memory and replayed again for his own personal torment. Everything was so vivid, just so real that he could never distinguish when he was dreaming or awake. But sometimes… the memories were wrong, different and twisted to the point where they were not quite as recognizable and he was living a whole new reality.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, as if the physical motion would rid him of the thoughts plaguing him. He shook his head again forcefully, his hands balling into fists around his sheets. He needed to get out of his room, away from the loose piece of paper scattered on his bed or the half translated notes by his pillow.

A soft tap on the windowpane startled him before he could muster up the strength to move though. His heart lurching to his throat as he quickly rolled out of the bed and down onto the floor, becoming tangled in his blankets momentarily. His sudden fear and panic faded the moment he realized that it was only his very own, personal body guard checking in.

Stiles stared blankly at the golden eyes that peered at him through the window.

Isaac tore his eyes away a moment later, casting his gaze throughout the room; he was searching for a threat, if the extended fangs and claws were any indication. He must have heard the nightmare and decided to investigate, Stiles realized with an embarrassed flush. He sniffled a bit, looking away as he hurried to wipe his sleeves against his cheek and eyes to remove any of the lingering evidence, but it was hopeless to hide it considering that it was what probably drew the werewolf up to his room to begin with.

For the longest time, Isaac said nothing, his inhuman features having faded by the time he finished climbing through the window. His eyes were now a surprising mixture of sea green and teal, which softened the edge of his deep seated frown. He was very quiet as he finally moved away from the window.

"… Hey, Isaac," Stiles said awkwardly in greeting, picking himself up off of the floor once he managed to untie his ankles from his comforter. He scratched at his forehead slightly, studying the other boy as he began to shuffle gracefully, noiselessly, around the room with a curious air around him.

Stiles honestly knew very little about the other boy. It was actually a bit surprising since they had shared a bench almost every day since last year when they both joined the lacrosse team as benchwarmers. Isaac hardly spoke though, contributing almost nothing to the constant conversation on the sidelines, so perhaps it shouldn't come as quite the shock that he was a bit of a mystery.

Isaac studied the various band posters along the walls, his frown turning bewildered at the unfamiliar names strewn across them. He seemed to be even more confounded by the impressive collection of graphic novels and comic books scattered over the desk, as well as the array of science fiction, fantasy and horror books lining the shelves of the book case in the corner. He paused, however, coming across the notebook that had been left out in plain view at the foot of the bed.

It was the notebook that Stiles was using to chronicle any relevant werewolf information in, such as everything that Derek had told him earlier as well as the few bits and pieces he had managed to confirm on his own. He had cataloged quite a bit of content so far, much more than he had been expecting initially.

Stiles had actually been under the impression that the sour wolf would go back on his word the minute he got what he wanted. He thought that maybe one or two things would be clarified, but that the rest of his questions would just be ignored. He never really expected that Derek would be quite so forthcoming about all of it.

And while he was grateful that his questions were being answered, Stiles was actually beginning to regret not letting sleeping wolves lie, so to speak. There were things he would probably be better off not knowing… such as the wrist biting thing. He shuddered as the memory flashed through his mind once more, of gleaming red eyes peering at him with an expectant, knowing look.

"We aren't allergic to silver?"

Stiles blinked in confusion as the quiet voice penetrated his scattered thoughts, drawing his mind away from the revelation he was not quite ready to contemplate just yet. He pushed it all to the back of his mind and glanced up at the other boy as he cleared his throat. "What?"

Isaac looked over at him curiously. "You have it written that werewolves are not allergic to silver," he said softly as he pointed to the passage, his voice sounding much the way Stiles remembered it to be. He lacked the dark, haughty edge that Scott had described from that night at the ice rink. He sounded calm and quiet, and just as painfully shy as he had been before the bite.

"No," he told him, clearing his parched throat again. Stiles reached up to rub his short head, releasing a quiet sigh. "No," he repeated. "Silver has absolutely no physical effect on you guys… which is kind of strange, because that was actually the one fact that _every_ myth seemed to have in common."

Isaac inclined his head. "That is strange," he agreed, puzzled.

"I kind of have a theory about that though," Stiles offered, not entirely sure how to interact with the other boy now. He rifled through a few of the papers on his pillow, finally retrieving the one he was searching for. "Allison leant me one of her family heirlooms—you know who her family is, right?"

"The Argents," he nodded. "They are hunters."

"Do you happen to know what the word _argent_ means?" Stiles queried as he handed him the paper. "It is the literal translation for _silver_. It got me thinking about just how far back the Argents might have been hunting werewolves. See here? Her family has been doing this for centuries; the book Allison lent me goes pretty far back too. Things get mixed up in translation very easily… all it takes is for one single word to get mistranslated and it could completely mess with the mythology."

"You're saying that it isn't the actual precious metal that is harmful to us," Isaac concluded with a raised eyebrow. "But the family silver." He looked vaguely impressed, tilting his head curiously. "It _would_ explain why silver is the one consistent factor despite the fact that it is completely irrelevant."

Stiles smiled sheepishly. "Just a theory," he admitted, but it felt good to know that someone else agreed with his harebrained speculations. "There is no actual way for me to prove it, because everyone who might be able to corroborate has been dead and buried for a very, very long time. Besides, like you said, irrelevant."

"Is there anything we are allergic to?" Isaac gave him an inquisitive frown.

"Nothing that seems conclusive," Stiles shrugged carelessly. "So far the only thing I know you guys are susceptible to is wolfsbane—" He squinted as the other boy gave him a decidedly blank look at the word, as if it were unfamiliar. "You have _got_ to be kidding me." He shook his head, casting his eyes heavenward incredulously. "Seriously, what the hell is Derek teaching you if both you and Erica don't even know the _basics_?"

Isaac suddenly developed a rather guarded look. "To survive," he murmured, rubbing oddly at his arm as he turned to look back out of the window. "What is wolfsbane?"

"Considering the name, what do you think it means?" Stiles said carefully, lifting an eyebrow meaningfully, taking the notebook for a moment and leafing through the pages until he found the correct one. "Read that. The bane of a wolf kind of sums it up nicely. Basically it is a poison to you guys. It can be harmful to humans too, but it would require large quantities to receive aconite poisoning—another name for it. It only takes a little to hurt you guys though."

Stiles was actually a bit concerned at the apparent lack of knowledge the wolf pack seemed to have regarding their own weaknesses and even their abilities. Surviving was definitely a priority, one of the main priorities even, but how could they even be expected to survive if they knew next to nothing about themselves?

It was somewhat disconcerting that he wasn't even a werewolf himself and yet he seemed to know more than they all did. He shifted uneasily as Isaac read what he had written on the subject, scratching the back of his neck. Perhaps it was time to meddle with pack affairs; he thought maybe he should broach the subject with the unfriendly neighborhood alpha when Derek came to pick him up later.

Stiles grimaced at the mere thought. That would not be a very pleasant conversation at all. He doubted the unusually accommodating attitude would extend to questioning the way Derek ran his pack. Maybe he should wait until they were done shopping tomorrow and back at the house before raising the issue, otherwise he may find himself kicked out of the shiny, black Camaro with no way to get his groceries home.

"Hey, are you thirsty?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. Isaac made a noncommittal sound and turned the page, staring at the small hand writing in unbridled fascination. He grinned and decided to leave the other boy to continue reading undisturbed, slipping away unnoticed.

Downstairs was utterly quiet as he made his way to the kitchen, though almost all of the lights were on. He had turned them all off except for the front porch light last night before he had retreated to his room, and he had an inkling as to why they were all on now. Sure enough when he peered into the living room, he spotted a familiar figure slouched over on the couch.

Stiles released a quiet sigh at the sight. His father was sprawled out over the seat, his neck at an awkward position as he slumped over to the side a bit. There was open case files that had undoubtedly been scanned through several times over the past few hours and an empty bottle of whisky dangling forgotten from the loose fingertips hanging over the edge of the armrest.

It was a very familiar scene. Stiles often found him passed out over his work, much the same way he had been passed out over homework and research almost every night. Never let it be said that Sheriff Stilinski was nothing like his son in that aspect. The only difference was perhaps the alcohol.

Stiles had been drunk maybe twice in his whole life, and only the time he had dragged his best friend out into the woods had been voluntary. His father, however, seemed to be drinking quite a bit lately. Stiles couldn't help but wonder if he was a contributing factor to the excessive amounts of alcohol poisoning his father. He probably was.

Deciding to deal with it in just a few moments, Stiles continued toward the kitchen to find something to soothe his raw throat and maybe something sugary to boost his energy. He grimaced when he spotted the digital clock gleaming from the microwave, noting that it was barely even eleven o’clock. He had only slept for all of an hour and a half rather than the three he had been hoping for

It was better than no sleep at all, he supposed, but not exactly restful.

Stiles scanned the contents of the refrigerator, briefly scowling as he recalled that his ample supply of carbonated energy had vanished in the night yesterday. He wondered if this feeling of irritation was the same one his father felt every time Stiles brought him vegetables or healthy alternatives instead of the greasy, fried foods and fat loaded burgers that could work his body into an early grave.

Derek Hale was a surprisingly health conscious individual. Maybe it shouldn't come as such a surprise though, because the man obviously took good care of himself. His muscles were firm and sculpted, and being a werewolf was not an immediate makeover that gave you well defined arms and a broad, muscular back or even a washboard abdomen.

It took time to achieve a chiseled physique, time that Derek obviously spent well, and a healthy diet. And apparently he honed in on the fact that Stiles was basically living off of energy drinks anymore and took offense enough to remove the products entirely. He wasn't sure why Derek even cared what he did. It was baffling and perhaps more than a little irritating, but he chalked up the interfering as some crazy werewolf thing and decided not to pursue it any longer.

Finally settling on the last one the orange juice, Stiles forwent grabbing a glass and drank directly from the container. There was not much left, so why bother? He also took a few tablets for pain since he could already feel the pressure building behind his eyes, a preemptive strike against the steadily progressing headache.

Stiles finished his juice in silent, trying desperately not to let his mind wonder back to his nightmare or what it meant that he was dreaming about that night again after so long. He really hated Peter Hale. He never actually thought he was capable of conjuring such an emotion; he threw the word around a lot, mostly in jest or maybe at Jackass Whittemore, but he never actually felt that way.

Peter Hale had inspired some very new, dark and angry feelings in the short time they had been acquainted. He could understand the motivation behind what the man had done for the most part; he was without a pack—which Stiles was coming to understand was weakness in werewolf terms—and bit Scott to rectify that. It was perhaps not the smartest move, because his best friend was _not_ the brightest crayon in the box and he had not wanted this life.

Stiles could also understand the murders on some level. Revenge on the people who enabled his entire family to be brutally murdered could be viewed as justice to someone like Peter, and hell, even Stiles could see the appeal of revenge. He doubted anyone would not want some kind of retribution for the murder of almost all of their family.

Peter had only been thinking of himself when he followed through with his plans though, or perhaps just not really thinking at all. He had murdered his own niece without remorse, just to inherit her position as the alpha. She had not deserved to die; she had nothing to do with the fire or the cover up. She was just someone standing in the way of his revenge and his lust for power.

It was terrible and heartbreaking and completely unnecessary.

Derek had come looking for her then; he had already lost so much in his life, but too lose the last person in the world he held dear… tragedy seemed too trivial of a word to describe that sort of loss. Not only had he lost her, Derek also found part of her remains out in the woods around his house, her eyes staring blank and almost terrified in her death. He had buried her; he had dug a grave and placed her in the ground himself.

Stiles was horrified to suddenly realize that neither he nor Scott had ever apologized for what they had done after that. They had been so consumed with their scheming and theories that they never stopped to consider other alternatives. He could not imagine how Derek had felt after they had finished unearthing the body or how angry he must have been when Stiles had climbed into the front of that squad car after he had been arrested.

A soft snore broke through his thoughts, and Stiles gratefully shook himself of the dark cloud surrounding him. He took in a deep breath and rubbed at his tired eyes, blinking when he realized after a glance at the clock that he had been standing here for more than twenty minutes without even noticing. He shook his head.

"I must be losing my mind," he muttered under his breath, quickly moving into the living room a moment later. He frowned deeply at the sight of his father; the sheriff looked completely exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes a very prominent feature. He sighed and grabbed the empty bottle from his loose grasp and set it aside.

Stiles tried to arrange him more comfortably without waking him. He knew how precious sleep was nowadays, especially as the sheriff. He knelt down to unlace the boots still tied to his feet, setting them aside beneath the coffee table, and froze when he set eyes on the belt and holster. He felt his heart lurch slightly, an unknown feeling of unease surging through him.

Sheriff Stilinski was usually very careful to hide his weapons away in the gun cabinet, locked away and completely out of sight or reach. It was often the first thing he did when he arrived home; unbuckle the belt and the holster, tucking it carefully into its space to be forgotten until the next day.

Staring down at the gleaming metal now, Stiles flinched slightly and tore his eyes away from it. He knew exactly what the make and model was; he knew how to handle the weapon safely and proficiently, how to care for it and clean it. He could probably still break down and reassemble a gun blindfolded, as if it were muscle memory—he had done that in fact, because sometimes the shiny things distracted him.

Trips out to the shooting range seemed like such a far off memory, but in truth it was less than five years ago since the last time they went. There was a time when he and his father went every other weekend as part of the whole father and son bonding experience, back when things were less tense between them. He had struggled with accuracy at first, but he was nothing if not a fast learner.

Stiles was not even sure what had happened to the gun he had claimed as his own, the one he had fondly called Xena; it was probably hidden in the gun cabinet or maybe sitting at the pawn shop in town. He wondered if he was still any good after so long. He may actually need his warrior princess if recent events were any indication at how helpless he was to defend himself.

Not that he thought his father would willingly place a dangerous weapon in his reach without constant supervision. It was very unlikely indeed.

Stiles quickly divested his father of the belt and holster with deft fingers, discarding it gingerly upon the table with haste. He reached for the crocheted blanket always hanging off the side of the couch and covered the man up carefully. He glanced down at the paper work on the table as he took the empty bottle back in hand, giving the loose stack a contemplative look.

Debating with himself for a moment, Stiles eventually let his curiosity win out and he chose a random paper from the pile. He winced immediately, sharp features staring back at him from a photograph paper clipped to the profile. It was the mechanic from the other day, the man he had seen crushed to death right in front of him.

_Cornish, Tucker._

A humorless laugh bubbled in his throat as Stiles read the name, his voice sounding harsh and broken to his own ears. He was such a horrible, selfish person. He had watched this man die how many days ago now? It already felt like so long ago when in reality it had been little more than a week. And he had never even bothered to learn his name before.

Tucker Cornish probably had a family and friends somewhere mourning his death, and Stiles had consumed himself with other things and had not spared a thought for the mechanic unless it was to wallow in self-pity about his nightmares. He closed his eyes tightly as he fought off a surge of overwhelming emotion.

"Stiles?" a soft, somewhat hoarse voice called.

Stiles immediately tensed, lowering the profile back onto the table as inconspicuously as he could. He blinked rapidly to clear his eyes, and he cursed himself for making any noise, let alone a sharp, bitter laugh as he turned in place. His father peered up at him with tired, bleary eyes that begged for more sleep.

"Yeah, it's me," he told him quietly, tucking the blanket around him a bit more. He smiled weakly when his father gave him a questioning look. "Everything is fine, dad. Go back to sleep." He released a quiet breath of relief when the man did as he was told, eyelids falling shut without another word.

Stiles decided not to pursue any case files again tonight. He was not entirely sure he wanted to know more about the Cornish case. He had witness it; he would rather not read the coroners reports or the autopsy. Besides, he had company upstairs and it would be very rude to keep him waiting anymore. He finished cleaning up the alcohol tumbler and bottle and retreated back up to his room.

Isaac was still occupied with the book when he returned, or rather, trying to appear engrossed with the werewolf lore. He had a very peculiar expression clouding his features though, and he was gnawing slightly on his bottom lip as he absently turned the page without actually reading it. He was so obvious; he had been eavesdropping.

"It's okay," Stiles said, unsure how to handle this situation. "Eavesdropping is actually a natural trait of yours," he said wryly, throwing him a careless grin. "Such big gossipers you are, you can't help but listen to everything around you," He received a tentative smile for his attempt at humor, but it faded quickly, leaving a very worrisome look instead.

"It smells like whiskey," Isaac said lowly, a dangerous edge to his voice as his eyes suddenly flared golden. "Does he drink often?" He clenched his jaw, glancing toward the door as his fingernails began to elongate.

Stiles felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in apprehension. "Often enough," he admitted, alarm bells going off in his mind when the subdued growl echoed throughout his room like a warning. He took an automatic step back toward the door as if to block should the werewolf lost control and decided to attack his father for indulging once in a while. "He only drinks when he is upset or stressed, and never more than a few ounces."

"It started after your mother died?"

Stiles flinched as if he had been struck. "… Yes."

Isaac was tense like a coil, his knuckles turning white cracking loudly as he curled his hands into fists. "Does he ever hurt you?" he asked sharply.

"No!" Stiles denied vehemently, shaking his head in earnest. "No, never," he repeated, all the tension draining from him as he watched the golden eyes fade at the truth in his words. He was relieved that the other boy had calmed, and if not a bit upset that anyone could ever think that of his father. But he thought he might know where Isaac would get that notion.

This was a very awkward and unnerving conversation. He knew enough about what had happened to Isaac given what happened to his father; it had actually become the local gossip around town, especially now that Isaac was the main suspect in the murder case. He learned the most from what his father had found out during the initial investigation and what Scott had seen that night in the Lahey house.

Stiles could grasp why Isaac was becoming upset by the excessive drinking, but his own father was not like that. He drank, yes, frequently even, but John Stilinski would rather saw off his own arm then ever raise a hand to him. His father had never even spanked him, not even when he was being intentionally infuriating to get attention or when he did something incredibly stupid that could probably land him either in juvenile hall or perhaps an asylum.

There was nothing Stiles could think to say that might alleviate some of the sadness he could see in Isaac. He hated seeing people in pain and he wanted to erase that look immediately. He could not offer an apology though, because it would only sound insincere, especially since it was not something either of them could have controlled.

"It started after my brother," Isaac offered somberly, averting his eyes now that he was no longer in danger of shifting. His jaw tightened again. "It was only drinking then too."

It struck him then that Isaac was not searching for apologies or sympathy for his past hurts. He was worried that the same thing may happen to Stiles. He knew it would never happen, because his father was still his super hero in disguise and would always protect him no matter what, but the sentiment was strangely heartening.

Isaac stiffened suddenly after drawing in a quiet breath, sparing him of having to come up with a way to break the heavy silence that settled over them. His head turned, not urgently or fearfully, and instead of looking toward the window like Stiles would have expected, he turned toward the dresser along the wall with a strange frown before he began to approach it. He yanked one drawer open and peered down.

"… Do you need a new shirt?" Stiles asked in perplexity, not entirely sure what the other boy was doing. A thought occurred to him then, and he asked, "Dude, do you even _have_ any clothes? I mean… being on the run and all, you can't necessarily go home to pick up a fresh pair of und—"

"Why does this shirt smell like Derek?" Isaac cut him off with a speculative look.

Stiles could only stare blankly, confounded for a moment. "Eh?" he choked out, eyes widening as the words registered in his mind. "Why does that…? Say what?" Isaac lifted up a shirt he had retrieved from the drawer, dangling it from his long fingers. It was a very recognizable shirt; it had a low collar with three white buttons, and orange and blue alternating horizontal stripes. "Oh! Wait, you could smell that? Dude, that was like a month ago!"

Isaac ignored the question, apparently taking it as a rhetorical one since it was obvious that he had sniffed out the article of clothing. "Why does it smell like him?"

"You aren't exactly the first fugitive that I've harbored in my bedroom," he said offhandedly, pausing a beat later. "Just ignore that last statement, because that sounded really awkward," He scratched his head sheepishly, trying to think of a better way to phrase it. "Your alpha needed a place to crash for the night and my bedroom was apparently the safest place to be, and I may have used him as eye candy for Danny Mahealani so he would do us a favor."

Isaac gave him a wide eyed stare.

Stiles backpedaled quickly as he realized how what he just said could be construed. It was worse than what he opened with. "Not that kind of favor! Not like, you know, a sexual favor or anything like that. Not even a favor really. We just needed his assistance." He winced at the odd, strangled noise it drew from the other boy. "No! No, _assistance_ was a bad word choice," he hissed in embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck with a pinched expression. "He _helped_ us, and there was nothing sexual about it or—"

Isaac cut him off with a barrage of uncontrollable laughter. "You…" he wheezed, grinning slightly, apparently not unnerved by the wholly unimpressed glare he was receiving in return for his hysterics. “You are worse than Coach Finstock!"

Coach Finstock was known for putting his foot in his mouth. Practically every word he spoke was laced with unintentional innuendos that either made the whole team crack up or feel extremely uncomfortable. It was not a very fond comparison.

"Glad to know I amuse you," Stiles drawled sullenly, crossing his arms as he tapped his foot impatiently. He let the chortling continue for a while, grudgingly pleased that his humiliation had served to elicit a positive emotion from the boy.

Stiles frowned speculatively as he studied the other boy and another thought occurred to him as he waited for the noise to settle. His mind suddenly went in a whole new direction; he recalled his conversation earlier while cooking dinner. The whole evening had proved to be a rather enlightening, horrible and strangely awesome experience.

Derek was a horrible cook. He was literally the worst cook that Stiles had ever had the misfortune of sharing a kitchen with, and that included Scott who could, in fact, burn water. It was also a very good thing that Derek healed fast after the onion incident and hey! Stiles had forgotten to add to his notebook that though werewolf extremities do not grow back, that can be put back together. But Derek had mentioned trying to find a way to exonerate Isaac after his finger grew back.

And just for the record, no fainting had occurred at the sight of the amputated finger. Honestly. It was just the onions; they'd made him lightheaded along with teary.

Stiles had an idea though, and an idea was a very dangerous thing to have. He narrowed his eyes as he ran scenarios in his head. He had done something similar months ago after he and Scott had inadvertently turned Derek into a scapegoat for the crimes his uncle had been committing, although granted, they had been unaware who was truly responsible and at the time they were under the impression that Derek was dead. He searched for a way to prove Derek was innocent after they learned he was still alive.

Isaac had better odds in his favor though. He may not have a solid alibi, but Stiles was very inventive when it came to storytelling and excuses, especially when he actually had time to carefully construct them into a believable defense. Isaac was a minor, someone who had suffered immeasurable emotional and physical trauma, and it was entirely plausible that he had simply ran away from home… especially considering it was sort of the truth. There was also one more thing that could essentially turn this idea into a reality: the man masquerading as a deputy.

"Are you done laughing yet?" he asked abruptly, eager to share his epiphany, especially before he got distracted and lost his thoughts. He may not know Isaac very well, but he seemed nice enough and he deserved more than to be on the run.

Isaac snickered a moment more, the timid grin still in place as he nodded.

"Good. So… speaking of you being a fugitive…"

Isaac tilted his head curiously. "What about it?"

"Do you remember what happened the night of the last full moon?" he questioned, unsure just how aware Isaac had been during his first transformation. He saw a small flash of contrition in blue eyes as he nodded.

"I'm sorry about—"

Stiles waved off his apology. "No worries. Scott tried to kill me too at one point, so I figure it may just be your natural reactions."

"Scott tried to—"

"The deputy who came to inject you with the poison was actually caught by the security camera in the hallway," he interrupted, not wanting to get his friend in trouble because Isaac seemed horrified by the fact that he was not the only one who had thought him a chew toy on occasion. "Do you know what happened in that hallway?"

Isaac shook his head, still looking as if he wanted say something.

"Derek and I were there to bust you out before the hunters could kill you, and that guy grabbed me in plain view of the camera. He wrapped his arm around my neck and started to drag me off, the needle clearly visible and immortalized on film." Stiles smiled a slow, satisfied smile. "It looked like he was actually trying to kill me, and my face… well, my panic only reinforced that mentality."

"… Oh," he said faintly, his blue eyes wide.

"My dad was _pissed_ ," Stiles told him gleefully. "They ran his prints and got hits in multiple states for several counts of kidnapping, arson, and suspected murder. We can add impersonating an officer to his list of offenses too. You may have put the guy in a coma after bashing his head against the wall, but he is royally screwed if he ever wakes up. He dug his own grave when he decided to eliminate the witness—the witness being me. My dad is going to destroy him."

"What does that have to do with me though?"

"My father is under the impression that I interrupted a kidnapping or possibly a murder," Stiles told him, and then he frowned slightly. "Come to think of it, I kind of did interrupt a murder… so really, that was probably the _only_ situation where I actually told the truth in my official statement. Go figure," He shrugged. "The damage done to your cell was not easily explained, but they determined that it you were obviously his intended target."

"I still don't understand."

"I have an idea, which may or may not be a good thing, but could also, maybe get you exonerated and remove your fugitive status," he concluded, smiling proudly, but gave him a probing frown a second later. "But you may not like it, and actually, you _really_ won't like it, because my ideas tend to go fifty-fifty, so there is a possibility that it will utterly fail and you may end up with another charge of attempted murder."

"… Does…" Isaac breathed out in shock. "What does that even mean?"

Stiles smiled at him mischievously. "How do you feel about holding me at knifepoint? Oh, and we have to do this before Derek gets here tomorrow morning, because he will definitely _not_ approve… then again, he never approves of my plans."

Isaac looked suitably horrified by the idea, but he turned chalk white at the notion of not consulting his alpha first. "Can I just stay a fugitive?" he asked tentatively.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been half finished for over a week, so sorry for the delay. I went on a road trip thinking I could work on this story while on the road or in the hotel, but it turned out more complicated than I thought it would be. Oh... and I have not seen Restraint or Raving yet, so please no spoilers. I learned the hard way that DirectTV just made it impossible for me to record my show when I went to play the episodes I'd missed while away and discovered they had been replaced by an imposter; it recorded an hour of the stupid DirectTV logo under the name of Teen Wolf :(


	8. Losing Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew he was losing himself bit by bit and day by day. He wondered how much time he would have before he became like his uncle, a mindless conduit for vendetta and death.

### Losing Himself

The somber, ashen sky produced a light drizzle of rain which fell softly upon the clearing of the summit. It was hidden well within the depths of the small mountain range, free from all outside distractions; the path was a treacherous one with sharp rocks littering the trails and steep inclines to the top of the overhanging cliff that over looked the town.

Derek glanced over his shoulder as he slowed to a stop, peering at the two betas following him. They were huffing slightly with exhaustion, clearly unused to the ruthless pace he had established when he ordered them to along for the run. He exhaled softly himself, feeling invigorated and relaxed from the physical exertion.

It was beautiful up here, undisturbed and peaceful. He was pleased to see that everything looked almost exactly the way he remembered it from his childhood, though nature had taken over quite a bit in his absence. He studied the area carefully, allowing the other two to take a moment to catch their breath; they would need to be well rested for what was to come.

Large boulders encased the small plateau here at the top, the enormous monoliths making it nearly impossible for anyone below to observe what took place, which made it ideal for what he intended. Dense trees provided further protection from the opposite side, the forest creating a thick wall and flat slabs of stone were cemented deep within the earth and keeping the precipice level and easy to walk on, with small patches of dewy grass and pebbled gravel scattered randomly about the terrain.

Derek inhaled the morning mist gratefully, his chest expanding as he sought to keep the fresh, clean scent of the unpolluted air within his lungs. He detested the smells of the old, abandoned building he had taken up residence in; the rusted metal, the rotting structure and especially the dust that seemed to clog up his every sense were beginning to irritate him.

It was supposed to be a temporary living arrangement. He had very few choices at the moment, with the hunters trespassing and occupying his residence on the off chance that he would return there again. He could smell them a mile off, so he honestly had no idea why they even bothered. He hated the smells of that house as well though, the scents of mold, fire, death and fear lingering even after six long years.

To be perfectly honest, living in Beacon Hills again had never been his intention. He had never wanted to return to this town after he and Laura had moved away. He had ended up in New York, clear on the other side of the continent, to keep as much distance as possible. Everything here only reminded him of the past, of how his choices ruined the lives of so many. But Laura had come back to investigate that newspaper clipping of the deer and the spiral and she had never checked in with him.

At first Derek merely stayed out of revenge, but now his instincts had already claimed the territory as his own and there would be no leaving in the near future. He had chosen this path when he had released his uncle from this world; there was no going back now. But as the alpha of his new pack, he needed to secure a proper residence for them all that did not consist of decrepit buildings. He needed to provide for his pack.

Money would not be a large issue, at least not at the present. He wanted somewhere large enough to accommodate for everyone. His family still owned the majority of the area, though he had been forced to purchase the house on the preserve back from the county; their land was not just limited to the house in the forest or the road leading up to it though. Now that he was the last remaining member of his family, everything had fallen into his name.

Derek knew his father had always spoken of building another home up on this precipice before he died. The plateau went on for several acres, the sturdy rocks giving way to soil great for planting, providing plenty of space to build upon as well as somewhere to plant a healthy sized garden. It was secluded and not easily accessible by human standards, but it had always been the favorite training grounds for the young wolves of their family in the past. His mother and sisters had always loved it more for the spectacular view it provided.

Hunters would have difficulty reaching the top of the summit, at least not without alerting anyone of their presence. There were also several ways down if one knew where to look; the old trails his family used to take were still there, just hidden by years of growth. There was an old dirt road that winded up the mountainside as well, but it would need some work before any vehicles could be driven on it safely by their human members.

Derek had already located the numbers for some of their old allies last night in the little book his sister had left with him. He knew of a few contractors among those contacts that could be trusted with undergoing the construction of a new home. He was reluctant to call though, in light of the recent attacks by the hunters and the kanima situation.

Such a large project would take time to build and some careful planning. He would not allow what happened in the past to happen again; his pack would not suffer the same fate. There would be more doors, safer ways to evacuate than just one hidden door in the basement which could be easily barricaded if an outsider knew where to find the other entrance.

Derek would ensure nothing like that ever happened to this pack. They were his to protect now. He would keep them all safe. He would not allow them to die before him. Never again, he vowed, pushing away the painful memories. He inhaled one last breath to clear his mind and then inclined his head ever so slightly.

The two betas made a face at the unspoken order, but began to rise from their slumped over and relaxed positions on the ground. He moved further away to give them some space, taking up position against one of the boulders. He leaned back against it; his arms were crossed over his chest and he watched as they stretched briefly and then crouched at the ready.

Erica closed her eyes and curled her fingers a bit, her deep breaths loud in the silence of the clearing. She stayed like that for a few moments, simply breathing, her eyebrows puckered in concentration. Her fingers flexed against her thighs, nails sharpening into fine, dangerous points.

It was a rather slow progression. She had to concentrate far too hard just to achieve the claws of her own volition instead of allowing her emotions to draw them out with instinct. It was progress nonetheless, though; the exercises in control that had been taught to him in his younger years once again proving useful. She seemed proud of herself when she finally opened her eyes.

Boyd presented her with a smirk as he too controlled the shift, his fangs gleaming in the dimmed morning light. Neither were a perfect transformation; their faces remained mostly human, though their eyes flashed gold and honey, their ears subtly less rounded and more canine, jaws lengthening only slightly to accommodate for the larger teeth.

Both were a far cry from the partial transformation Scott McCall could conjure upon will alone, which was the only reason that particular member of the pack was absent from this training session. Scott had learned to control himself within a matter of weeks with only the guidance of his very human best friend. It was admittedly impressive, but Derek would never tell him that.

However, the rest of the betas were learning. It would take some time until their skills improved more and Derek was confident that it was only a matter of time before they could fully embrace their new abilities. He could be patient when he wanted to be, contrary to popular belief that his fuse was short.

Derek nodded at them once he felt they were ready. "Begin."

"Don't worry, babe," Boyd said, his smirk laced with challenge. "I'll go easy on you."

Narrowing her eyes at the slight aimed at her pride, at the insinuation that she was weaker than him, Erica released an enraged growl. She charged forward without warning, a dangerously determined glare deep set in her face. She swung downward toward his belly with as much force as she could muster.

Boyd merely smiled at having riled her up with his insult; he had known she was quick to anger and it made her sloppy. He caught her by the wrist, twisting it viciously in an attempt to subdue her. She struggled not to be overpowered by his considerable strength. He may have been stronger than her, but she was far more agile and quick, which she utilized fully.

Before he could cause her arm any damage, Erica rotated in one quick motion. His grip loosened at the new position, and she sank her claws deep within his forearm as she jerked away from him. She grinned in satisfaction, her eyes flashing as she danced away from his retaliating swipe at her chest.

Blood seeped from the deep gouges, the scent of salt and rust filling the clearing. "First blood," she taunted, obviously pleased with herself for besting him. She immediately turned, seeking approval from her alpha, though the sparring skirmish was far from over.

Erica whimpered as fangs sunk into her exposed shoulder. She swung around with her arm extended once he released her, blood spilling down both her chest and her back in long rivulets. She caught the retreating chest with only the tips of her claws, slicing through the shirt Boyd was wearing but not his skin this time. She glared at him.

"Stay focused," Derek advised quietly, not reprimanding her for the mistake.

Erica should not have looked away from her opponent until this was over, but it was only natural that she would seek his approval and this was only another training exercise. He had promised himself after the incident with Isaac that he would not be quite so harsh on them when they unknowingly made a mistake.

The steady pulse across town rang in his ears, anchoring his mind.

"Try not to let anything distract you from your opponent," he lectured them evenly, though not angrily. He gave Erica a serious look. "If this were a real fight, taking your eyes away even for a split second could mean death. You need to stay focused."

"Yes, alpha," she said meekly.

Derek glanced at their wounds as they moved back into position. Neither the scratches nor the bite were anything to be concerned about. Both were already healing in fact. "Again," he commanded, watching with detachment as the two wolves snarled at each other and charged.

Training continued on until sun illuminated the valley below with small beams of light through the clouds as they began to disperse, the hazy fog no longer blanketing the forest and the town. More blood was drawn from both Boyd and Erica throughout their spars, though they were learning to never stop moving. Both were completely worn down from their brawls, blood and sweat coating their skin and their clothes.

Derek stopped them occasionally to provide his input or critiques, noting the way their entire faces lit up whenever he subtly praised them for something. He was admittedly pleased with how this exercise ended. Erica had provided quite the challenge for her packmate once she focused merely on trying to defeat him, while Boyd was a solid wall that refused to move despite her best efforts to knock him down. He was more patient, baiting her into attacking him for the most part. She was quick to anger and it was both a strength and weakness.

He wished he would have made them fight each other from the beginning instead of making them face him. It was hardly a fair fight when he had an unfair advantage. He was physically stronger than any of them, much more experienced with fighting their kind, and he had the collective reinforcement of the pack to improve upon his weaknesses. He grew more powerful with each wolf he created, with each wolf that he accepted into his pack.

It was one of the reasons his instincts still screamed for him to bite more people and force them to submit to him. Scott had abated it for the most part once he accepted his place within the pack. The intense need to increase the ranks so no hunter would be able to destroy them still curled deep within his belly, not entirely gone, but the rush of power and strength he felt the moment Scott had agreed had sated him for the most part.

The feeling was intoxicating and addictive.

Derek tried not to let the power overcome him; the madness lurking in his mind. He tried to concentrate on his pack because he honestly was satisfied with their progress. He was certain that a few more sessions against each other would ready them for something bigger. He had a feeling Scott would provide a good challenge for all three of the others; the boy was a soft touch at heart, but he had proved himself worthy of respect throughout the past months.

Scott was already much more competent just for realizing that he could not bring down his enemies on his own. He was already of the mindset that he had to accept aid; he did that in the form of his friends in the past, relying on the other members of his pack to help him through everything. He knew how to work as a comprehensive unit rather than on his own.

All of the others were used to being alone.

They faced their enemies, their tormentors without any support, so it was only natural for them not to have a pack mentality yet. They had come to know each other in the past few weeks, but the bond of trust between them was thin and fragile. Until they had faith in one another, they would never be able to fully embrace themselves or their abilities.

Derek dismissed both of them once they reached the bottom of the mountain once again, leaving them to return to their families before anyone truly noticed their absence at the early hour. He ran leisurely through the woods, headed for the industrial district of the town where his warehouse was located. His car was parked behind the main building, out of sight from anyone who might chance by.

It was a short drive from there to the Stilinski house; normally, it would have taken longer, but Derek only abided by the speed limitations when there were other vehicles on the road or pedestrians nearby. He drove at breakneck speed, somehow knowing this day would be an eventful one. He really hoped that grocery shopping with Stiles was a lot less dangerous than cooking with Stiles. He slowed when he reached the street turnoff, parking on the side of the road outside of the house and turning off the ignition.

Something was wrong.

Derek could feel it the moment he stepped out of the car. He paused uncertainly; there was only one heartbeat here, resonating from within the house. A sudden sense of unease filled the pit of his stomach. He knew there should be at least one more person lurking nearby, keeping an eye on the occupant of the house.

Isaac was not where he was supposed to be. Even if his beta had deviated from the immediate area, he could not disobey entirely. He would have had to stay within a certain distance of the house, which would certainly be within his range of hearing in case something happened. He also seemed to be developing a protective disposition for their human companion, which made it unlikely that he would leave of his own volition.

Several scenarios flashed through his mind at what could have happened to Isaac to make him leave the boy unprotected. None were favorable; hunters overpowering him in the night before he could call for help and the kanima slashing Isaac's neck with the toxin and gutting him in an alleyway just like it did his father seemed the most likely.

Derek growled deep in his chest and was on the porch in an instant. There was a vague heaviness in his mind, a red miasma clouding his every thought. He was not thinking clearly, every fiber of his being urged with the strong compulsion to break down the door and enter the home and search for the one occupant inside to ensure he was not harmed.

So he did.

Solid wood crumbled like ash as he impacted with it roughly. The door unhinged from the vicious force as Derek barreled inside, impacting with the opposing wall further down the hallway before it clattered to the floor in halves. He could smell faint traces of blood; the scent was fresh but a bit stale, not more than a few hours old at the most. He surged up the stairs quickly, taking the steps two at a time.

Derek rounded the corner at the top of the landing, instinctively knowing to go to the room near the end of the hallway. He could hear the heartbeat resonating there, the scent of blood becoming stronger to his sensitive nose, only driving him further into a frenzied state. His claws tore deep gouges into the door as he threw it open, the desperate need to protect the weakest member of his pack overcoming all rationality.

Stiles was standing in the center of the room as he barged inside, directly in front of a wide mirror. He released a startled yelp, the blue toothbrush falling from between his lips and clattering into the porcelain sink, whiskey brown eyes blown wide with fright as he gazed into the reflection. He met the angry, determined and fiery glare with a look of astonishment.

There was no immediate threat present in the room.

Derek determined that instantly as he took up position from behind the boy, noting no other scents in the room beyond Stiles and a faint trace of Scott and Sheriff Stilinski. He calmed marginally, though his burning eyes were drawn to the reflection of the boy, a deep growl emanating from his chest at the sight of the source of the blood.

It was a thin cut, extremely shallow though it extended over at least four inches long. He narrowed his eyes at it, angry to discover the wound marring the soft, pale flesh of his neck. Someone had harmed the boy who was under his protection; he was instantaneously enraged by that fact and was prepared to hunt them down and tear them apart.

"Derek!" Stiles cried, breathing out a sharp breath of relief when he finally recognized who was standing behind him. He braced his hands against the countertop, his accelerated pulse ringing loud in the sensitive ears of the alpha. "You scared the hell out of me!"

"Hurt," he said gruffly, the single syllable coming out more as a bark. His head was still full of fog, his vision still tinted red. In the mirror his face was contorted with dangerous teeth and a faint sheen of dark hair.

Stiles blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Hurt."

"Oh, this? Just a small battle wound. My razorblade hates me, or maybe it just likes me a little too much, since it decided to give me a great big kiss—" He cut himself off when another growl echoed in the small, acoustic room. "Um…"

Derek glared at him in the mirror. "Lie."

"Okay, just what is with the monosyllable words? Huh? Because you are beginning to sound like Tarzan now with the grunting and the growling, or a caveman actually, because right now you have a protruding brow and some really impressively scary facial hair going on and—"

Stiles stilled with a small gasp, eyes growing impossibly large as clawed hands settled on his hips gently. No other words escaped him, apparently at a loss for once, but his breath seemed to halt entirely and there was a touch of fear suddenly permeating the air. He remained still in the grasp, staring into the mirror uncertainly.

A reassuring growl reverberated throughout the small bathroom, Derek drawing closer in an attempt to sooth the boy. He grew more agitated when it seemed to have the opposite effect, only causing the boy to startle like a spooked rabbit being hunted. He growled again, deeper this time, the sound resonating in his chest.

Stiles stared at him through the mirror "Derek?" he questioned, attempting to turn around, but the grip on his waist kept him immobile. "Uh…

Derek had to remember that he was not dealing with a wolf, someone who would respond to a growl meant to calm rather than frighten. He huffed slightly, ending the growl and hot breath spilling over the back of the slender neck in front of him. He then drew his claws up the quivering sides in another attempt to sooth him, wanting to abolish the scent of distress the little human was emitting because it was making him tense in response.

Stiles peered at him in the reflection, swallowing with a hint of nervousness. His fear did slowly ease though, no longer as pungent as before. His breath hitched when Derek only huffed again, leaning over his shoulder and nudging his slackened jaw with his nose so he could inspect the wound better.

It only took one sniff to discover who had done it.

Derek growled again, this time with fury. "Isaac."

Stiles winced guiltily. "Uh… who is this Isaac you speak of? There are no Isaac's here, so I have no idea what you…" He trailed off with a slight squeak when Derek closed his mouth over the cut directly beneath his jaw. "Derek?" he questioned softly, voice barely audible almost as if he were afraid to speak. "Derek, can you… can you hear me?"

Derek ignored his inane question for the moment, concentrated on cleaning the thin cut because he could already smell bacteria clinging to it. He knew how infection could fester, even with the smallest of wounds, and he just wanted this cut _gone_. He ran his rough tongue over the smooth surface, tasting the salty tang to the blood along with something else.

There was an underlying flavor beneath the medications secreted from the skin on a daily basis, beneath the exhaustion and confusion. It felt warm on his tongue, causing it to tingle with an odd but not entirely unpleasant sensation, almost as if every nerve ending in his body was surging with static electricity. He listened absently to the idle chatter that was like a distant murmur to his ears, mind focused on identifying the taste in his mouth.

"Oh my God," Stiles breathed out, breath hitching in something akin to a moan. He trembled slightly, unconsciously tilting his head aside and baring his throat, responding to the approving growl it earned him by repeating his previous sentiment. "Derek? You… um… this is not normal. You're not Derek, are you? You're the wolf." His pulse skyrocketed, heart beating like a drum, loud and frantic, and his scent filled with panic and uncertainty. "Hey there, Mister Growly, my name is Stiles. Nice to meet you, it really is, but can I have Derek back now please? Because, no offense, but you are seriously freaking me out."

Derek met his eyes in the mirror, studying the pale face with an incredulous expression of his own. "Stiles," he ground out against the soft neck, finally detaching from it reluctantly. He studied it briefly, pleased to find that it was already scabbed over and healing more swiftly from his ministrations; it would be gone by tonight. He shook his own head briefly, trying to clear the haze from his thoughts.

"That's right," the boy praised uncertainly "I'm Stiles."

"I know who you are idiot." Derek hissed at him angrily, coming back to himself suddenly and the blood in his veins ran cold in shock when he realized their position; hands were clamped like vices over narrow hips, his front practically plastered to the back of the young man, and there was deep, hollow heat beginning to pool in his lower stomach.

Derek quickly extracted himself form their tangled position, his claws retreating with a soft snick and his fangs sifting minutely into blunt, human teeth instead. He reconstructed what had brought him here in his mind; he had arrived and… what? He remembered destroying the door in his haste, though beyond that he could scarcely recall what happened.

Everything was still a bit fuzzy, the details escaping him, but the unique taste of Stiles still covered his tongue. The idea to clean the wound like he would for one of his betas had seemed perfectly logical at the time, but clearly his instincts had pushed all rational thought to the back of his mind. He had lost control for a brief moment, lost the ongoing battle not to let the madness overtake him.

Stiles was staring at him cautiously, one hand pressed against his neck. He had obviously turned around while Derek had been lost in thought, but he was still trapped between him and the bathroom sink. His heart was still pounding a fierce rhythm that only served to increase Derek's own anxiety.

"Are you alright?"

It took Derek a moment to realize that Stiles had asked the question. He wanted to laugh at the preposterous question when he had managed to unintentionally scare the boy once again. It was a question Stiles had been asking him quite a bit recently too. Was he alright? No… no he really wasn't. He knew he was losing himself bit by bit and day by day. He wondered how much time he would have before he became like his uncle, a mindless conduit for vendetta and death.

Perhaps soon the hunters would have some just cause to want him dead.

"Derek?" Stiles questioned softly, one hand rising tentatively as if he wanted to comfort him somehow but was unsure how well contact would be received. He eventually moved forward, touching his shoulder, despite any reservations, and the touch was grounding and comforting all at once. "Are you with me?"

Derek inhaled deeply, realizing that the scent of fear had faded and was now placed with concern for him. He had no idea what to say. How could he even hope to explain what had happened when he was not sure himself? He nodded sharply in response to the question, hearing the heartbeat calming promptly, returning to the swift yet gentle pace that seemingly never failed to calm his own nerves within a matter of minutes.

Stiles breathed out a relieved sigh. "Glad to have you back man," he said awkwardly, looking up at him as he bit down on his lip. "For a moment there, I thought your wolf was going to eat me alive. Which, you know, not a good way to die because of the slow, agonizing pain."

"You make it sound like there are two separate entities living inside my head," Derek pointed out brusquely, blatantly ignoring the problematic and unexplained event because he would rather chew off his own hand than address what happened. He was grateful that Stiles had a short attention span, his unquenchable curiosity over all things werewolves winning out over Derek laving at his throat… for now.

"Isn't there?"

"No," he replied, the words ' _you idiot_ ' not said but implied.

"But Scott said—"

"As you pointed out the other day, Scott was _bitten_ ," Derek interrupted, using his own words against him because they were surprisingly fitting. "Most bitten people get easily confused by the change. They try to rationalize their new animalistic instincts by separating them with their former human lives. They place all the blame for whatever urges they now have on their wolf, despite the fact that there is no wolf living in their consciousness. It is all them, because we are not humans… we are werewolves."

"If it is just you in there," Stiles mused, his eyes sharp and curious. "Then what just happened? Are you telling me you actually licked me on purpose? Because I've known you for almost four whole months now and although you seem to lack any concept of personal space, you have never licked me or Scott before when we got hurt."

Derek glared at him, realizing the boy was far too clever for his own good. "Where is Isaac?" he deflected, expecting to earn himself an eye roll for his obvious evasive tactic, but instead the boy paled considerably and adopted a guilty expression. He took a threatening step forward. "Where is he?"

"He… left?"

"Stiles," he snapped harshly.

"Okay, okay," Stiles backpedaled. "Isaac had to go to the police station with my dad."

"… What?" Derek stared at him, feeling abruptly betrayed by the words. "You sold him out to your father?"

Stiles recoiled as if he had been slapped. "No!" he denied vehemently, hurt flashing in his brown eyes. "You really think I would do that to him? I know he's innocent, remember? You just… " He sighed heavily, all of the righteous anger draining rapidly. "You mentioned that you wanted to get his charges cleared and I had an idea on how to do last night while we were talking it so… well… we did it this morning."

Derek clenched his teeth together. "Explain."

"Remember the police officer that tried to kill him?" he queried tensely, continuing when Derek nodded irritably. "Yeah, well, turns out, not really an officer. In fact he was a wanted felon, with a list of priors that filled eighteen pages, and the best part, a history of kidnapping. He never stopped with just one person though, he went for whole families, usually starting with the oldest and working his way down."

"Most hunters do," Derek told him, not entirely sure how this was relevant. "They do it to eliminate the whole pack. First they take out the alpha and work their way down. Younger wolves have little control to begin with, but if you take away the ones who protect and guide them… it makes us easier to hunt down and kill."

Stiles flashed a brief, triumphant smile. "That's exactly what I figured! So I used it to my advantage, because to everyone not involved with all this supernatural shit, this guy just seemed like a really screwed up individual with a history of serial kidnapping. It was easy to see that he was coming after Isaac that night since he was the only one in the cells, and this is right after Isaac's father turns up dead…" He trailed off.

"… You framed the hunter?" Derek asked for clarification.

"Not exactly," he shook his head. "You guys kind of further implicated Isaac of the murder when you both disappeared into the night. Because Isaac fled, he was still their prime suspect for his father's death. He made himself seem guilty by running, but… well… I kind of had an idea to make him seem… less guilty."

Derek raised an eyebrow impatiently.

"No appreciation for dramatic silences," Stiles sighed quietly, shaking his head in mock sadness even as he edged away. "That guy did an impressive job trying to make himself appear legit; he had the badge, the uniform, and almost flawless paperwork… almost. Even I was fooled at first glance and I'm there at the station almost every day looking at this stuff. So it made me think, what if Isaac had thought he was a real cop too? I mean, we all know he was a hunter, but if you take the supernatural elements out of the equation, all that's left is a scared boy being attacked by what he thought was a cop. Do you get it?"

"It makes Isaac seem like he ran because thought a cop were trying to kill him," Derek mused. “And because of that, he would have no idea who to trust, how many might be in on it…” It was plausible, he supposed. Had he never bitten Isaac and his father still perished the same way, it was a scenario he could actually picture quite clearly had the hunters still thought he was a wolf, especially with them not playing by the rules any longer. "You convinced your father of this?"

Stiles averted his eyes suspiciously. "… Yes?"

"Stiles," he snapped testily.

"It may have taken some… theatrics?" he said reticently, shuffling his feet. He met his eyes with a small wince. "Isaac made it through his first full moon, but he seriously lacks the control you and Scott have. I was worried that he might not be able to handle a full interrogation or a polygraph test if he were to try and go directly to the police, because those sort of things freaks out normal people, let alone twitchy werewolves."

Derek could concede to that.

"Beyond that, why would Isaac ever want to turn himself into the police if he thought they were trying to silence him or something? It would be the last place he went! But if he wanted to clear his name, then he would at least have to speak to someone, so why not do the interrogation with the sheriff himself without anything or anyone else present to set him off? Except my father has been kind of testy lately, especially after what happened at the police station. He would never just let a suspected murder sit down at the kitchen table to discuss anything… so we had to _make_ him listen."

Stiles fingered the thin cut on his neck. It was a very telling gesture.

"You made it seem like he broke into the house," Derek realized crossly. "That Isaac would hurt you if your father refused to listen." He was uncertain which bothered him more; the idea that Isaac had been set up to appear like the fugitive people suspected him of being or the fact that Stiles would willingly place himself in a dangerous position like that, between his probably armed father and a 'twitchy werewolf' as he put it.

Both were unsettling notions.

"The hardest part was getting Isaac to agree to hold the kitchen knife to my neck," Stiles admitted sheepishly, wincing with equal parts shame and pride. "We staged a break in after I coached Isaac in what to say. Isaac played the intruder and I played the hostage. Essentially, my father was… forced to hear him out. Before you get angry, can I just say no humans or wolves were harmed in the making of this production?"

"And it worked?"

"Oh, yeah," Stiles nodded quickly, his own voice sounding somewhat disbelieving. "It totally did. Let's just chalk that up to my superior planning skills. Also, Isaac looks like a puppy, and no, that was not a slight to his wolflihood. He _literally_ looks like a puppy that is super cuddly. He pulled off the scared teenager on the run perfectly; I'm actually sensing a career as an actor here. My dad took him to the station to get an official statement and run everything through the proper channels, but everything should work out."

Derek wondered why his anger had decreased with every spoken word. He should have been infuriated with Stiles for his interference, for quite possibly nearly causing him and his pack more problems with the law, but he could only feel appreciative that this was one less issue for them all to worry about in the future. Isaac would return to school and be able to move around the town unhindered again, no longer hunter by the law on top of the hunters.

"Thank you," he said evenly.

Stiles met his eyes in surprise. "Really? You're not mad? No urges to rip my throat out with your teeth? Or maybe to lick me again?" He flushed at his own words, eyes looking down toward his bare feet as he worried his bottom lip.

Derek was a bit flustered himself, although he hid it carefully. "You were wrong," he said after a pregnant pause. He reached up and brushed the back of his fingers across the small, nearly insignificant injury with a frown. His hand dropped and clenched tightly at his side, growling deep in his throat. "You said no one got hurt during your little… performance."

"Oh. That."

"Isaac should have never hurt you."

None of his wolves should even touch Stiles without his permission. He was under the impression that he had made that thoroughly clear not more than four days ago when he punished Erica for her transgression. It infuriated him that Isaac allowed this to happen, despite the fact that it was not a serious injury. But even still, hurting Stiles should have had intense repercussions to Isaac since it violated the orders to protect him.

"That was actually my fault," Stiles told him sheepish, plucking at the frayed hem of his graphic tee with a blush. "Isaac was lowering the knife and I just kind of… walked into it."

Derek could only close his eyes with frustration. "Stiles, if you are lying to me…" He wished there was a solid way to determine when Stiles spoke the honest truth. He was far too good at playing word games, confusing false information in with the bits of actuality. It really was beginning to grate on his nerves.

"No, really," he countered earnestly. "Isaac totally freaked out when it happened and would seriously _not_ stop apologizing. He ushered me down into a chair and used his own shirt to staunch the blood. It completely ruined the whole threatening persona we established, but I guess it just kind of proved to my dad that Isaac was not capable at killing his father and mutilating the body if he squirmed that much at a small knick."

"How did you get Isaac to leave?" Derek wondered belatedly. "He was told not to leave your neighborhood unless you were kidnapped or dead until I came to relieve him."

Stiles only raised an eyebrow. "Uh... I just told him he had to go? To fill out the paperwork."

"You will be explaining everything to me in full detail on the way to the grocery store," Derek said in exasperation, deciding he would need to hear the whole story in order rather than random accounts of it. Stiles should have no authority over his wolves, especially not enough to make them ignore a direct command from their alpha. He had no idea what it meant. He turned to leave, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Finish getting dressed. I'll be waiting downstairs."

"Hey!" Stiles called. "You never answered me! You really aren't mad?"

Derek paused just outside of the bathroom. "No," he admitted, looking back over his shoulder at him. He honestly was not angry in the least anymore. There had been the brief flicker of outrage but that had dissipated quickly. He wondered what it was about Stiles that could both enrage and calm him like no other. "Oh, I hope you won't mind adding Home Depot to our agenda today."

"No," Stiles said in bewilderment. "You're the one chauffeuring me around town to get my shopping done, after all—your car your rules. Why would I mind?"

"Because," Derek smirked despite himself. "I broke down your front door."

"You did _what_?" he yelped.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DirectTV settled the dispute with Viacom; it was a big blowout with them over money that left a lot of us out of luck for Teen Wolf. Thankfully all the channels have been restored, so I won't have to hunt down tonight's episode on the MTV website again. Thank you to everyone who let me know it was available there.
> 
> Also... I've only just realized that there is a reply button alongside the comments. I only realized that because someone replied to a comment I left them... so... oops? O.O I am terribly sorry for ignoring everyone; I've always been more of a lurker on FF.net and there was really no reply button there anyway. So thank you all so much for all the lovely comments! I will reply to them now that I know it's an option :p


	9. Gradual Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been a gradual realization at first, something he actively tried not to think about but inevitably did anyway because it was always lurking in the back of his mind.

### Gradual Realization

Stiles had honestly been hoping it was a joke. He paused at the base of the stairwell, staring down at the shattered pieces of wood blanketing the floor; he should have known better to even think that Derek Hale had a sense of humor. He sighed inwardly and crouched down, picking up a shard of wood and turning it in his hands.

There would be no salvaging it at all. His only relief was that while the door had been demolished, the frame itself was mostly intact despite some small hairline fractures he could see when he squinted. He inwardly cringed as he calculated just how much replacing this might cost him, knowing that even a simple door would run him for over one hundred dollars.

What a wonderful way to start his day.

Stiles had rather limited funds to begin with and he had to work from a budget. He would have to prioritize. He had been saving enough money to buy a cheap replacement for his waterlogged phone, as that was an essential part of his life. He needed a phone in case there was another emergency, what with the kanima roaming around and rogue hunters out for blood.

Now with the door, even the simplest phone seemed like a far off possibility. He would have to dip into his relatively untouched savings account for the money he had been hording to repair his jeep with. There was enough money in the account to cover the cost of the door and maybe even a new phone, but that meant he would have to wait to have his jeep fixed once he finally got it back.

No big loss really, considering Derek seemed to be content enough to drive him around town. For now at least.

Stiles knew he would have to come up with a plausible explanation though. Even if he somehow managed to install the replacement before his father returned later this evening, there was probably no perfect match at the store for the solid cherry mahogany door without having to custom order it. There was not even a remote possibility that his father wouldn't not notice the cheap imitation and question it.

"What possessed him to break down the front door?" he sighed tiredly, standing from his crouch with a shake of his head. He had to clench his eyes shut momentarily as a sudden wave of dizziness hit him from the abrupt change in altitude. His stomach rolled with nausea briefly and the world around him was seemingly upside down and oscillating wildly.

A hand was at his elbow in an instant.

Strong fingers gently curled around his arm, the slight pressure the only thing keeping Stiles upright as he flailed slightly. He ended up grabbing hold of a leathery sleeve, the jacket material twisted in his fingers as he fought to regain his equilibrium. He probably should have tried to sleep more last night after waking up from his nightmare, but he had gotten so caught up in scheming with Isaac that he just… forgot.

Derek was staring at him with a frown when he managed to overcome the wave of lightheadedness. "When was the last time you ate?" the werewolf asked tersely, hovering with his hand still stabilizing him. He sniffed subtly after he asked the question, though after that whole debacle with Scott trying to sniff out wolves among the lacrosse team, it was an easy gesture to spot. He did not look happy with whatever he smelt.

It took Stiles several moments to realize why. "Yesterday?" he said uncertainly, wincing as the frown deepened with something akin to concern. He had to really think about when he had last eaten, because his days were all melded together into the longest day of his life, kind of like the bad day counteragent Jack Bauer had that never seemed to end.

Stiles also knew he had a tendency to skip meals on occasion. It wasn't as if he did it on purpose, but when he was obsessing over something then all of his everyday mental functions seemed to go offline. He had been obsessive over the bestiary for days, finally pinpointing the gibberish language that had initially stumped him after several hours of research.

It was written in a combination of an archaic form of Latin and an obscure form of French that had not been used for a very, very long time. Some of the pages were all written in one singular language and then switched off to the other three pages later, and then there were the really complicated ones that used both languages on the same page.

Obviously the Argents were a paranoid bunch to have put so much effort into encrypting their private heirlooms. Stiles was totally acing his French class though, at least enough to get the gist of most of the pages. He did have to invest in some books on Latin to help with the rest, which he had ordered online and expected them either by today or the beginning of next week, so now it was only a matter of how fast he could learn in order to translate everything.

Therefore, the fact that it took Stiles over three minutes to recall his last real meal—the mac and cheese casserole from yesterday, and _wow_ , was that really only yesterday?—was of little consequence because in the end it meant they were one step closer. He could recall eating an orange for lunch yesterday too, but yeah, the casserole was about it.

 A skipped few meals were hardly something to worry about in the grand scheme of things though. He had gone longer without eating before, particularly around midterms when he had to buckle down and absorb as much knowledge as possible to ensure a decent grade. He would gorge on something when his appetite returned and he would be fine.

"Yesterday," Derek repeated flatly, dark eyebrow rising decidedly unimpressed. He hovered beside him, not releasing his grip, though his fingers spasmed slightly around his arm.

“… Yes, yesterday,” Stiles said. “You should know because you were actually there. My casseroles are unforgettable. It was a very filling meal, in fact, what with all the cheese and the ham and bacon, so much that I wasn’t even hungry come dinner time.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. "… You skipped breakfast yesterday too, and I can tell you haven't eaten anything today either."

Stiles had no idea how he even knew that. "We are completely out of cereal and I really don't feel like cooking this early in the morning," he said in bewilderment, not sure why he even needed to defend himself. "Dude, it's not like I'm starving myself or anything."

Why was his lack of appetite even a thing? Because it was a total _non_ -thing or at least it should be, but Derek was making it into one for some unfathomable reason. He was just being absent minded. It was no big deal. Except Derek seemed to think it was a big deal.

"We're stopping at the diner," he said, and his tone made it clear that this was not a request or a suggestion; it was a command. And despite the shortness of the order, the older man hovered over his shoulder with one hand still at his elbow, apparently to ensure he would not topple over or something as he guided him outside.

It was baffling behavior, although nothing about the alpha was making any kind of sense lately. _Such as the licking_ , his mind supplied unhelpfully. He flushed furiously with lingering embarrassment at the memory, feeling both awkward and flustered, and the close proximity was only making it worse.

Outside the air was fresh with the smell of a light rain, the sky still cloudy with only a few small patches of sunlight shining down. Dew clung to the garden of flowers in front of the house and on the blades of grass; he loved weather like this and took a moment to just stare up at the gray clouds once they reached the bottom of the porch.

Stiles was only released when he was inside the car, and the irate werewolf stalked around the front to get in the other side. He was silent as they began to move, and he hid his face slightly, unable to make the heat fade from his cheeks. His eyes strayed to the vacant door with a fleeting worry that someone would notice and go inside.

This was Beacon Hills though, the place that had a two percent crime rating of vandalism and petty theft before all of this werewolf business happened. Nothing would happen to the house while he was gone. Everyone knew who this particular house belonged too also; no one would enter even with the distinct absence of a front door for fear of getting arrested on sight.

Derek gave him a sidelong glance a moment later, interrupting his internal musing with one even word. "Seatbelt." His eyebrow rose in waiting until Stiles reached over his shoulder and hooked the safety belt around him, his face still flushed crimson as he did so. "You would think that the sheriff's son wouldn't need to be reminded to wear his damn seatbelt."

Stiles snorted slightly, quirking his lips in a half smile as he managed to compose himself. "Not usually, but you distract me sometimes," he admitted absently, releasing a sigh as he rubbed at his temples. His head was still aching, but thankfully the medicine was doing its job at alleviating some of the pain. He paused when there was no immediate reply, turning his head to find the older man frowning at the road. "Is everything okay?"

"You ask that question a lot," Derek muttered quietly. His expression was unreadable, but there was a puzzled note in his voice.

Stiles only shrugged one shoulder and turned his face away. He rested his head against the cool glass; it felt nice against the lingering heat of his skin. He began to watch the scenery as it flew by hypnotically, his eyes feeling heavy with the gentle rocking motion of the vehicle and the calming purr of the engine. "Yeah…" he agreed, not sure what else to say on the matter.

"… You were going to tell me what happened." Derek prompted when they paused at a stop light, changing the subject with more ease than Stiles ever could have.

Stiles ended up describing everything that happened with Isaac and his father in critical detail on the way to the diner. He explained everything from how he came up with the idea and how Isaac had argued with him for ten minutes on the whole knife issue. There was honestly not much more to tell, but Derek seemed mollified once he knew how it all played out.

The diner was bustling with breakfast goers when they arrived.

Derek somehow managed to procure the same exact table as last time despite the rush and their server was the same woman, Patricia, who greeted them both with a pleasant, familiar smile. Stiles ordered juice this time and reluctantly scanned his menu, if only to appease the disapproving glower aimed at him.

"You're being insufferable," he muttered sullenly after placing his order, slouching down in his seat with his arms crossed.

Derek gave him a reproachful look and sipped his coffee. "You should take better care of yourself," he huffed under his breath in retort.

"Says the guy who lives in deteriorating buildings that have been condemned for several decades," Stiles countered incredulously, tapping his foot on the floor restlessly. "That right there is the pot calling the kettle black. Not cool man, not cool."

Derek only scowled. "I have never understood that saying."

"It is an idiomatic expression," he replied automatically in elaboration, idly picking apart a napkin for something to do with his hands to release his nervous energy. "It means that you should not disparage another for the same behavior you exhibit." He glanced back up at the werewolf, grinning at him. "In other words, telling me to take better care of myself when you clearly don't do the same is stupid."

"I can take care of myself."

"Just as I can take care of myself."

Derek gave him an oddly dissecting look. "No," he denied evenly, slowly shaking his head as his frown deepened. "You take care of everyone _other_ than yourself."

Hands stilled in their mission to create confetti, Stiles frowning down at the mess he was creating. He felt nervous at the words, not even sure why because he knew they were true to a certain extent. "Someone has to look out for you guys," he said measuredly.

"You are not the pack mother, Stiles," Derek replied quietly, and maybe it was just his tiredness or his overactive imagination pulling the wool over his eyes, but Stiles thought his voice was tinged with something similar to fond exasperation. "You don't need to look after everyone, especially not my pack."

"… I know."

Stiles was incredibly grateful that Derek let that be the end of this particular conversation, not exactly wanting to go in depth about his place among the pack or lack thereof. He was the odd man out most of the time with his distinct lack of superpowers. Sometimes he felt like the only thing he could contribute was his research abilities or his connections with the sheriff, but he was good at taking care of people.

Some days caring for others seemed to be the only thing he was good at too. His mother had always said that he was her sunshine; she said he was just so bright and warm that he couldn't help but share his light with people to brighten their days. He put others before himself more often than naught without even thinking about the consequences.

It often landed him in trouble.

Even if his friends thought him as weak or incapable or maybe just too human, he was still the one they sought out when things went wrong. It made him feel good, like he was needed… and maybe wanted for more than just his knack for solving mysteries and translating ancient languages.

"Here you are," Patricia said easily, breaking through his musings by placing a plateful of food in front of him. "Can I get you boys anything else?"

Derek shook his head and placated her with a rare hint of a smile. It was startling just how much the expression could wholly transform his features from a broody werewolf into a rather… attractive man. Usually the best he could give were little half smirks or twisted smiles full of bitter spite, but this was honest and it was a good look on him.

"You should do that more often," he whispered to himself, momentarily forgetting the fact that werewolves had incredible hearing. He flushed a bit when he was pinned by a questioning gaze, averting his eyes with embarrassment. He bit down on his lip uncertainly, reaching for his silverware and taking a large bite of his waffle to evade conversation.

Stiles had been trying to avoid thinking about what happened earlier, his thoughts thrown into chaos at the questions it all provoked. But it was hard not to be drawn back to certain thoughts when he witnessed a smile that could devastate hearts like that. He resisted the urge to touch a finger to his neck, to feel along the mostly healed scratch.

Feeling the rough hands clasping gently at his waist, the course fingertips trailing up and down his sides had triggered something in him, and the warmth of the broad chest plastered against his back had only incited extraordinary sensations. Nothing could have prepared him for the feel of the hot mouth on his neck though; he never thought that his neck could be quite so sensitive before.

Even now the skin around the fading cut tingled with remembrance, causing a swell of unknown emotion in him. Stiles knew logically that what happened was one of those wolf things that he was just too human to understand yet. He also knew about the werewolf accelerated healing, so the fact that their saliva could possess medicinal qualities had already been on his questionnaire in the distant future.

It was good information to have.

Everything was confusing though. His mind was already overwhelmed with questions that had nothing to do with werewolves or even anything supernatural at all; he was questioning himself. He blamed his father for all of this, for even putting these ideas into his head. He was content before, content to pine away for the unattainable girl he had been crushing on since third grade, and then came that stupid comment about _boy trouble_ of all things…

Stiles would have never even started to bring himself into question had it not been for that. His curiosities about Danny and homosexuality had been brief in the past, just passing thoughts and jesting questions of his own attractiveness, maybe a few comments to his best friend about making out, but then… it started to feel different.

Lydia had been an intense infatuation, one that had been so deeply seated with him that he never felt the need to assess his attraction for anyone else. But now his father had put these thoughts into his head, and it was right after his last lingering hopes of Lydia maybe returning his feelings had faded too, so he now found his eyes straying from soft feminine curves to solid masculine planes just as often as the reverse.

Stiles had pretty much drawn the conclusion that he could probably find men attractive too, but that was all he was willing to admit at this juncture.

It had been a gradual realization at first, something he actively tried not to think about but inevitably did anyway because it was always lurking in the back of his mind. He had been slowly easing himself into accepting the idea that maybe, possibly it was not just a brief curiosity after all… but then Derek Hale just had to literally break down his front door and _lick him._

Derek Hale had no bearing on how he came to said conclusion either no matter how just as admittedly appealing he happened to be aesthetically speaking. And especially not when his mouth traveled across his neck unabashed or when he felt the intense heat emanating from his strong body.

It was purely a coincidence that his revelation came after that.

Stiles could admit to himself that it had felt good though; his protest for Derek to stop had only stemmed from uncertainty and perhaps a bit of fear that the man had not been in his right mind, not from actually _wanting_ the sensations to end. But it was also the first time anyone had ever touched him with anything resembling intimacy and the fact that it was Derek had been just a tad too overwhelming.

Although he was acutely aware that his body was so untouched that he probably would have had the same physical response to anyone who touched him like that. So just because it was a man doing the touching meant nothing unless he wanted it to. It would never have to mean anything if he never acknowledged it as something significant to himself… but maybe he did want it to be relevant.

Stiles would have responded to the stimulation, and gosh, _stimulation_ was another bad word choice, but he was sure even if it had been a woman getting all touchy feely with him, he would have enjoyed it then too. He was not entirely sure what that made him. He knew there was a word for it, something technical though the word escaped his mind right now. Beyond that was there even a reason to put a label on this? He was the only one that knew… and maybe his father suspected, but still, he had never fitted properly into most of the social labels so why should this be any different. He was still just Stiles.

Nothing different there and no reason to say it out loud yet because Stiles was still hopelessly single, but he knew he would have support from his father at least when he decided he was ready to say it. He knew from his conversation with Danny that it would probably make some of the guys on the team uncomfortable, but they would not ridicule him for it. Danny himself probably helped more than he knew by talking to him even for just that brief period.

Everything would be okay in time.

"You're quiet."

Stiles blinked as the voice penetrated his thought. He smiled wryly when he saw his companion frowning at him with concern. "Sorry," he said, though considering most people found his babbling to be annoying, he wasn't sure why it was an issue. "My mind won't shut up… I think I forgot to take my medication earlier."

"What do you take medication for?" Derek sounded surprisingly curious.

"Just… things," he said haltingly, biting down on his bottom lip and wishing he had not even brought it up. He never usually had to explain; most people just made assumptions. "You know…. attention deficit hyperactivity disorder…" He figured technical terms were easier than trying to sum up his subtype. "Nothing life threatening."

Derek arched his eyebrows in surprise. "That… actually explains a lot," He smirked when Stiles only rolled his eyes in response. He sat back in his chair, cocking his head thoughtfully at him. "Have you been dealing with it your whole life?"

Stiles shrugged. "I guess so."

Derek studied him intently for a long silent moment. He then seemed to come to some sort of internal conclusion and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Is it hard to deal with?" he asked attentively, a suggestive pang in his voice.

Stiles could only shrug again, though his body seized with a sudden foreboding sense when he recognized the intent behind those pale green eyes. "No," he whispered softly, closing his own eyes against the sight. It was too familiar, too penetrating, especially with the lingering remnants of his nightmare still echoing in his thoughts no matter how hard he pushed it away.

Something was different about Derek, had been ever since he become the alpha. He was more intense, more prone to succumb to his emotions and there was just something about him that felt… dangerous. He had always had a certain intimidating air around him, and Stiles had always had a healthy dose of caution for him. Perhaps he had even feared him in the beginning, but not like this. Not like this.

Stiles felt it every time Derek pinned him with crimson eyes.

It was the same fear Peter Hale had aroused within him.

" _Do you want the bite?_ "

"No," he repeated evenly, shaking his head and pressing the heel of his hands into his closed eyes as if to rid himself of the memory. It was no use though, because Stiles could still see the man standing in front of him, eyes expectant and knowing this is what he wanted, voice soft and compelling him to accept the offer. "I don't want to be like you."

Peter had not only wanted to administer the bite that night though. He knew that now, after his conversation with Derek regarding claiming and mating marks. Peter had intended to bite him on the wrist. It was something sacred and meaningful from what Stiles gathered—something that should only be done with someone cherished and loved.

Could Peter have even been sane enough to realize the implications of what he was doing by trying to bite him there? Stiles had thought he sounded coherent enough; he sounded intelligent, cunning even with his soft voice and his calculated words. He must have been aware of his actions, but just because he sounded sane didn't mean he wasn't all kinds of crazy.

Hannibal Lector had a way with words too after all.

Peter surely could not have really intended to _claim him_ as his intended mate. He just couldn't have, because Stiles was the quirky, lovable sidekick who always managed to get himself into a bind. He was just not _mate_ material, no matter how strangely seductive Peter seemed in hindsight. Or the fact that he said he liked him.

None of this should even matter now. Peter was dead and buried in some unknown locations, probably bound in a rope fitted with wolfsbane to properly bind his soul in the form of his spirit animal like the books mentioned. It was pointless to even think about what it could have meant when Peter tried to bite him or had he not pulled his wrist away in time. He was gone and it was over. Stiles had rejected the bite once and he could do it again.

Derek looked strangely wounded when Stiles finally found the strength to open his eyes again and he understood that he had already rejected the offer before it was even on the table. It was for the best. He had not mean to say it quite so harshly, parroting back the same words he had spoken to his uncle. It had been a lie then too, but not really, because he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted.

"… Okay."

Stiles swallowed thickly as the word cut through his thoughts, freeing him from all of this irrelevant speculation. "What?" he asked, seeking out his face; it was once again a closed off wall of impenetrable proportions rather than hosting a soft smile. He winced inwardly at having been the cause.

"Okay," Derek repeated quietly. He did not advance on him or mock him, forcing him to acknowledge that a part of him did want it. Instead he was quietly accepting, not pressing the issue and perhaps that was where Derek and his uncle differed. It made it easier to separate the two alphas in his mind.

Neither mentioned anything about it throughout the rest of the meal. Stiles was tempted to try and pay for their food, considering it was only fair since Derek paid the last time, but the werewolf gave him a stubborn look when he reached for it and slapped his hand away before stomping off toward the service counter.

They managed to make it to the store without further incident; no sensitive issues were brought up again and they managed not to argue the whole trip. He asked a few more questions, but since he had left his notebook at home, he only asked about some little quirks he noticed and wanted clarification on instead of anything he felt may be important.

Inside the store was another story.

Stiles studied the nutrition information carefully, perhaps with more scrutiny than it deserved considering the sugar content alone. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, tapping his feet on the tiled floor as he weighed the pros and cons; it did had a lot of fiber in it and it was healthier than the last four options.

It was his usual process. He always studied the labels to make sure they were in the parameters he liked and he always briefly scanned the ingredients on everything he bought. It was a habit and he would think that someone as apparently health conscious as Derek would understand the importance. Alas, he obviously worried very little at just how much processed sugar was in food now a days or what the shellac used to brightly color such foods was made from.

An impatient huff sounded behind Stiles at the prolonged inspection. He sighed inwardly and finally put the box of cereal back on the shelf, pushing his already loaded cart forward without another word until the cereal he normally bought was in view. He liked the bran and the raisons, and it was healthy so his father hated it on principal, but it was on also sale.

"You _can_ wait in the car, you know?" Stiles muttered under his breath as he moved onto the next aisle. He had been at this already for little more than half an hour, but the werewolf seemed to be chomping at the bit to speed things up. Too bad Stiles liked to take his time shopping, especially since he was eternally worried about what his father ingested.

Derek quite predictably only glared at his words and kept his silence. He had not left his side since they arrived, trailing along as Stiles chose fresh fruits and vegetables from the stands, expertly assessing them for ripeness and such. He had seemed fine at first, but as the minutes ticked by, the man seemingly began to grow more restless.

… and okay, maybe Stiles was taking more time than usual to look over cereals he would never even consider buying just to be particularly infuriating, but how often would he get the chance to annoy the werewolf without bodily harm? He had a feeling that Derek knew he was being intentionally obtuse about this too, which only made it that much more satisfying when he did nothing about it.

"Do you even actually eat any of this stuff?" the man questioned eventually when they made their way down the organic food aisle. He eyed the fruit leather warily, picking up one of the packages and giving it a cursory sniff. He wrinkled his nose but didn't recoil violently from it as he had the seaweed wraps though.

"Just the strawberry ones," Stiles confirmed, removing the package from his hands and placed it in his cart. "Sometimes cherry too, but it has to be this brand because the other ones have very odd aftertastes that resemble soap."

"… Are you almost done?"

Stiles rolled his eyes with a barely conceal smile. "Yes, dear," he said wryly, snickering to himself when he was given a rather unmoved scowl. "Just need to stop by dairy to grab some milk and then the electronic section to get a phone."

"A phone?" he repeated, frowning. "Why do you need a phone?"

"… The fact that you even have to ask that shows just how unobservant you are," Stiles said in disbelief, shaking his head. "Do you not recall the two plus hours we spent in the pool together? Or the fact that I let you go to make an urgent call for help that was ultimately ignored by my best friend?" He grabbed milk out of the cooler and placed it in his cart with a sigh. "It was either you or the phone buddy; needless to say… I chose you."

Derek grabbed his wrist to halt the cart. "You said McCall never answered your call, so what do you mean that it was ultimately ignored?"

"Can you just pretend that I didn't say that?" Stiles asked timidly, wincing as an angry frown began to form. It took him a moment to realize that the anger was not aimed at him. "I lied, okay?" he admitted reluctantly. "Scott did answer. He must have been really busy though, because he said he couldn't talk."

"He hung up on you," Derek said flatly in comprehension, his jaw growing taut as his spine stiffened. "You were calling him for help and he just _hung up_ on you?" He growled a bit when Stiles dislodged his hand and pushed on toward electronics without another word. "How are you not upset about this?"

Stiles bit down on his lip and tightened his hands on the push bar. "What is the point? He doesn't even realize what happened, so being angry with him would only make matters worse. Besides, he still showed up in the end."

"Only because he wanted the bestiary which he thought was in your possession," Derek pointed out tightly. "Do you need me to tell you what could have happened if he had been too late? What about next time? What if you call him near death and he dismisses you again?"

"… I know," Stiles whispered. "I know, okay? Scott McCall is a selfish bastard and he never _thinks_ , especially not when it comes to me. He lets me down constantly, especially now with all your werewolf shit infiltrating my life, but excuse me for trying to be the bigger person here by trying not to punish him for it."

Derek only frowned, his nostrils flaring as he expelled a breath. "Then try not to think of it in terms of punishment," he said reasonably. "He needs to know regardless of your feelings, because his ignorance only means that it can happen again. He will never learn not to be so self-absorbed if we don't point out his mistakes."

It was actually a very insightful idea. He never would have expected it to come from Derek, but he could see his point. "When did you become the voice of reason in this relationship?" he asked in bewilderment.

"What phone are you looking for?" Derek asked instead of acknowledging his question as they rounded a corner.

The electronic section of the store was sparse, but it did have some decent phones available. Most of them ranged from three digit price tags, especially the ones like his previous touch screen, but there was a few within his range that dipped below two figure sums even with tax. One in particular that had the old fashioned flip screen stood out at only forty dollars.

It was definitely not the kind of phone he wanted, but it was better than nothing. He picked up the display one, weighing it in his hands. "This one will work," he said, allowing the retractable cable to snap the phone back into place when he released it, turning his head to find an attendant to get one of the little boxes out of the locked glass case.

"… This is the one you want?"

Stiles blinked uncertainly at the disbelieving tone. "Yes?"

"… Your other one was much better than this."

"Uh huh," he nodded. "Your point, oh obvious one?"

Derek huffed as he crossed his arms over his chest. "This isn't the phone you want."

"Yes it is," he said, though it sounded just as unconvincing to himself as it probably did to Derek. He sighed, wishing there was a way to effectively lie to a werewolf. "Look, I already told you the other day, my money situation is kind of limited. Okay? This is all I can afford right now, so it will have to do."

Arching his eyebrow in consideration, Derek only glanced down at the rest of the phones set out on display. "Just pick the one you want. Forget about the price."

"What?" he frowned, confused by the order. "I can't just…" Stiles had a sudden flash of understanding. "Oh. Oh, no, you… no, really, the cheap one is fine, you don't need to—"

Derek cut him off with the shake of his head. "It is partially my fault."

Stiles flushed, feeling very awkward and strange at the prospect of the other man buying something so expensive for him. "No," he said. "No, thanks for the offer man, but you have already spent enough money on me this week. You don't need to do this."

"Stiles," Derek bit out in exasperation. "Just _pick one_. If it makes you so uncomfortable, just think of it as thanks for saving my life."

"You don't need to thank me!" he snapped adamantly. "It isn't like I expect some kind of payment for helping you. I saved your life because, believe it or not you stubborn ass of a wolf, I don't want you to die!" He felt strangely out of breath once he was finished.

Derek stared at him for a long moment. His face was completely unreadable, though there was something in his eyes, something that seemed troubled and vulnerable. His arms uncrossed eventually and he walked further along the display case without another word. He studied the features listed on the small placard and finally pointed at one.

"Is this the one you want?" he asked evenly, something challenging in his voice.

Stiles stared at him in disbelief, eyes unintentionally looking at the phone. "No," he denied, frowning when Derek pointed to the one beside it and asked the same thing. He shook his head in bewilderment. "No." he said again, beyond confused when the process was repeated again after that. "No, seriously, what is your malfunction?"

"What about this one?" Derek asked as if he had never spoken, and Stiles recognized the phone as the same one that was sitting on his desk at home, suffering from water damage.

"No."

Stiles felt strangely apprehensive when Derek paused, seemingly done with pestering him about the phone; his fears were justified when the man began to smirk at him. He watched as Derek turned his heel and disappeared toward the counter; he spoke briefly with the worker stationed there before they headed back, the attendant withdrawing a set of keys.

Comprehension hit him when they were standing in line to pay for the phone. He glared at the werewolf accusingly. He accepted the phone with a petulant pout. "No fair," he said once they reached the front to pay for the rest of his groceries. "You cheated! You used your wolf whammy on me."

Derek merely smirked smugly, his mouth opening probably to comment, but then his whole body seemed to stiffen in place. His eyes darted around him suspiciously, suddenly flashing bright red as he turned his head to peer behind him.

"What is it?" Stiles asked hesitantly at the abrupt shift. The werewolf only reached inside his jacket pocket and withdrew his keys, shoving them into his hands. "Derek?" he reached out to get his attention, swallowing nervously when he was met with a snarl and a growled curse. "Derek, what's wrong?"

Derek did not respond otherwise and instead turned around and ran passed the checkout stations, hurrying out of the building. Stile stared after him, his heart pounding a fierce rhythm in his chest in apprehension. His fingers clenched around the keys uncertainly, not knowing what he was supposed to do.

Stiles was forced to ignore his disappearance for now, stuck with a cart full of groceries and an old woman giving him an impatient look from behind the register when he contemplated just leaving it here to follow after him. He paid for the items as quickly as possible, pushing the cart outside where he was instantly met with the wind in his face.

Derek was nowhere to be seen.

Stiles hands shook as he unlocked the car doors and the trunk in order to hastily shove everything inside. His nerves were on end, everything about how Derek had suddenly frozen to how he so quickly disappeared without a trace leaving him in turmoil. He slammed the doors shut and left the empty cart in the return rack.

For a long while he just leaned against the passenger side of the car, scanning the bustling parking lot for any sign of the wayward wolf. He wondered if Derek had meant for him to leave when he gave him his keys, but he could not help but feel that he should stay. He watched the cars around him come and go, and his anxiousness only seemed to increase as the minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness.

"Screw this," he said finally, pushing away from the car. He made sure it was locked before he moved through the parking lot.

Stiles weaved his way between the cars, searching them all for any clues. His search initially yielded nothing except for more frustration, at least until he recognized something hanging in the rearview mirror in a black suburban parked on the far side of the parking lot near a long row of shops.

"Wolfsbane," he breathed out, recognizing the little flower. He jogged closer, dread filling his stomach like ice as he approached. It was empty, though he honestly hadn't expected there to be anyone inside. He peered through the darkly tinted windows, only able to make out something that looked like a crossbow in the back.

Stiles swallowed thickly, looking around. It had to be hunters; that much was certain, but he had no idea where they were. He bit down on his bottom lip in indecision, eyes spotting a large rock sitting inconspicuously among some decorative flowerbeds in a median just a few feet away. He was moving toward it in an instant.

It was heavy in his hands, cool and jagged as Stiles studied it. He tensed his jaw stubbornly, forming a fist around it as he turned back toward the vehicle; he threw it through the side window as hard as he could manage. He winced as the glass shattered, the alarm being triggered as all the sharp shards rained down upon the asphalt. He reached around the inside, unlocking the door and slipping inside momentarily, long enough to root around.

Surely the commotion would attract attention, the earsplitting sound shrieking through his ears as he grabbed some documents left out in the seats. He folded them up crudely and shoved them into his pockets, along with several other items such as the taser he found hidden within the glove compartment. He heard shouting in the distance and quickly withdrew, leaving the door wide open as he retreated back behind a car a few spaces away.

Three men came running out from behind a building, heading straight for the suburban with infuriated scowls on their faces. He watched them spin around in place, obviously searching for the culprit, their guns flashing from beneath their coats as they did so. They silenced the alarm after a moment, angrily withdrawing their weapons.

Stiles swallowed nervously as he watched them begin combing the area, really hoping that no one noticed him inching away from the crime scene. He could see it in the way they held themselves that they were strong and confident, clearly sure of their abilities. He had the taser on him but he doubted it would do much good against them.

They could take him down in a millisecond.

As stealthily as he could, Stiles kept low to the ground and tried to maneuver without being seen. By some miracle he managed to make it to the other side of the building he had watched them come from. He shuffled forward quickly, darting around the side of it and breaking into a run down the concrete staircase he found there.

A soft whine reached his ears the moment he moved around back. He inched closer to a dumpster behind the shops, gasping when he peeked around the corner. He could see Derek on the ground. He was curled into himself, his body shaking with effort and pain as electrical current wracked through him from the one hunter that seemed to be in charge. He could hear the voices chortling at his pain and it made his stomach churn violently.

Some of them were around his age, watching the gruesome display with impassive expressions, though the other one was older and seemed to be lecturing as if this were some sort of lesson while Derek writhed on the ground. There were three of them, not counting the three he had left out in the parking lot; that made six in total if he didn't get Derek out of here in time. He had no way of calling for help either, because although he had a phone now, it had yet to be activated.

Stiles enclosed his fingers around the taser. He jumped when it turned on as his finger unintentionally triggered it, a long line of electricity crackling between to the two spikes. It was not like the one they were using, that appeared to be a baton. This was the kind that he knew Lydia carried around in her purse, the small kind that fit easily in hand. He withdrew his pepper spray canister as well, because while it was designed to take on werewolves, it would probably burn like a bitch no matter what.

"I have lost my damn mind," he whispered, trying to return back to the determined mindset he had conjured when he had thrown a self-igniting cocktail on an alpha werewolf after apparently being propositioned by him. He closed his eyes for one brief moment of hesitation, trying to strengthen his resolve.

Not giving himself time to reconsider, Stiles stood slowly and moved away from his hidden location. He went largely unnoticed, the hunters more preoccupied with the werewolf they were studying and torturing as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world than with him. He moved quietly, holding his breath as he moved behind the older man.

" _They do it to eliminate the whole pack…_ " Derek had said earlier. " _First they take out the alpha and work their way down._ " His words seemed oddly fitting in this scenario; the more experienced needed to be taken down first. " _Take away the ones who protect and guide them… it makes us easier to hunt down and kill_."

Stiles hoped the same principle held true as he shoved the taser into the side of someone's neck without another thought. Time was irrelevant as he held it there for a long moment, the scent of burning flesh reminding him of meat being cooked over an open flame. His stomach rolled with his meager breakfast and he jerked the device away; the man fell to the ground coiled up and unconscious from the high voltage shocks.

No one moved at first.

Derek had recovered enough to stare up at him. His face was twisted in a horrified way, caught in a grimace of pain and a desperate denial. "Run," he mouthed, his voice inaudible through the small tremors still surging throughout his system. "Run…"

All at once everyone seemed to react. His arm moved automatically as one of the others charged at him with the baton that had been used on the helpless werewolf, his finger pressing down on the button out of instinct; the mixture of wolfsbane mace he had concocted sprayed out in a wide arc in front of him, directly into the eyes of his assailant.

The man screamed in agony. He stumbled backwards as he clutched his face, nearly backing into one of the younger ones who withdrew a knife from his jacket. It glinted dangerously in the overcast light, much more lethal looking than the kitchen knife that he had managed to walk into earlier.

"Come on, you mangy mutt," the boy snarled angrily, apparently mistaking him for a werewolf for his interference. "Come on!" He slashed forward in a quick swipe, catching Stiles by the arm when he was just a moment too late jerk away in time to avoid it.

Stiles gasped as the sharp pain registered, closing his eyes tight as he felt it. He had no time to dwell on it though, the flash of silver alerting him to another attack. He backed away quickly, pressing down on the button of the mace again, but the boy was ready for it and spun around so it sprayed over his back for one brief second before Stiles used the opening to his advantage and struck him hard on the head with the canister.

The boy was dazed, though he managed to stay upright. He rubbed at the back of his head with a glare, eyes narrowed as he tightened his grip on the knife in the other hand. He suddenly staggered, pitching forward with a startled cry before he could attack again. His leg was now lined with five long gouges made from the claws curled around the appendage. He collapsed and cried, trying to shake the claws off desperately.

Derek tightened his grip and drew the cuts even longer down toward the ankle before finally withdrawing, pushing up onto his knees with a grunt of effort. "Stiles," he ground out, and he looked up with an exhausted glare. His expression caught the moment they met eyes, urgency growing on his features. "Stiles!"

Stiles whipped around quickly, only to inhale sharply as he felt a sharp pain in his stomach. It hurt more than the small slash to his arm did, the sharp tip of a blade sinking in deep into his abdomen. A weak roar echoed through his consciousness as Stiles stared at the triumphant face before him, two other figures standing behind him.

"Oh," he whispered, standing there in a complete state of shock and fear as his mind raced to try and reconcile what happened. He had forgotten about the other three in the rush of confusion. He could feel the metal imbedded in his stomach, whimpering as it was pressed in deeper and twisted.

Savage sounds met is ears from the ground, Derek snarling and snapping like a vicious, injured wolf as he struggled to rise. He wanted to look at him, but his eyes were glued onto the hunter, who was looking less triumphant by the second and more panicked when it became apparent the wound was not healing and instead was bleeding freely, and then the blade was yanked out unceremoniously.

Stiles pressed a hand to the wound, and he thought that the feel of hot, viscous liquid gushing out across his fingers should have been more disturbing than it was. He could smell the blood in the air, could almost taste the coppery, metallic taste in his mouth. He swallowed reflexively and his equilibrium was just gone.

Everything felt distant as he stared up at the gray clouds, wondering absently if he should feel alarmed that he had not felt his body impact with the ground at all. He could hear shouting all around him, words and accusations being thrown about from above, but it was all just static in his ears, a distant murmur.

Stiles was not entirely sure how much time had passed before warmth blanketed him, a solid mass couching over him with a protective growl that vibrated through his chest comfortingly. He whimpered in protest as another hand closed over his, pressing down on the wound more firmly, clenching his eyes shut and turning his head to the side.

Soft murmurs were spoken, unidentified words trying to reach him, but he was distracted when the screams of horror began to penetrate the white noise in his head. His eyes opened once everything fell silent, the vibrations emanating from the protective werewolf above him growing stronger as he curled closer around him.

Stiles could only stare helplessly at the creature staring back at him. He remembered those eyes, yellow closest to the slit of the pupils, irises tapering off to a burnt orange and finally ending with a dark garnet, the eyes deep set into a reptilian face all covered in scales above the flattened nose and hissing mouth.

The creature released a sound, something tormented and furious as he crawled closer, body flattened with hands and feet on the ground, the tail swirling twitching behind it with something akin to anxiousness. Bodies laid at its feet unmoving save for some deep, panicked breaths from the paralyzed hunters.

Derek swiped at it from above threateningly with a growl for good measure when it was within range, but the kanima withdrew quick enough to evade. It hissed in response but oddly made no move to advance further, a long tongue emerging to scent the air. It circled around them as it had around the pool, head tilting curiously as it studied them.

"What does it want?" Stiles asked quietly, his voice sounding strangely weak to his own ears. His eyelids were growing heavy, his limbs feeling weaker. He blinked rapidly as the edges of his vision began to grow darker. "Why isn't it attacking?"

The kanima only released a mournful cry before the werewolf could respond. It was not unlike the roar Stiles had witnessed from his best friend on occasion or the ones Derek had been unleashing upon the hunters in his helpless rage, though somehow different at the same time. It lacked the distinct canine quality, something else lurking beneath it.

A moment later there was an answering cry in the distance and then the kanima was gone. It simply hissed again, eyes boring into Stiles like it was trying to communicate something vital, and then it just vanished with alarming speed.

The werewolf crouched down lower, his elongated teeth snapping ferociously as he pressed his knuckles into the asphalt. He stayed where he was, red eyes darting around the area for confirmation that the danger had passed. His heart was beating so wildly that Stiles could feel it against where their chests were pressed together from the defensive position.

Stiles knew the moment when his protector came back to himself. His features became less animal, the deep ridges on his forehead smoothing out into just a small hint of a frown, his eyes fading from the intense shade of red.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," he mentioned, hoping to sound reassuring but his words seemed to have the opposite effect. He felt as their hands were pulled away from the wound, Derek tearing the shirt open from the small hole from the knife in order to get a better look. A flow of blood tickled down his side and around his back, pooling down onto the dark asphalt below them and staining it darker.

Derek flattened his palm over the area, his features tight. He threw his head back a second later, reminiscent to the way how the kanima had. His howl was loud and desperate, the vibrations loud enough that window panes rattled and several car alarms on the other side of the building were set off.

Answering howls sounded one by one.

"Help is on the way," he assured him, staring down into his face.

Stiles smiled at him tiredly. "You have beautiful eyes," he said absently, noticing that they were not quite the gray he initially suspected. He could see startling blue pigments and green hues all combined. It was hard to determine their exact color though, studying them curiously as Derek stared down at him in alarm.

He heard his name whispered urgently once, then twice, before he finally succumbed to oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep in mind that when I began developing the plot, we were still under the impression that the kanima seeks a friend, not a master. Therefore my theory was that he had a friend out there somewhere helping him create havoc. It was too late to change it by the time the whole master business was revealed without seriously having to make some major changes to my storyline, so I'm keeping it the way I originally intended.


	10. Unexpected Outburst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a completely unexpected outburst, one that left Derek at a loss for words.

### Unexpected Outburst

It should not have been so painful to be rejected. His offer had never even passed his lips, the words left unspoken and the gift of the bite scorned as if it were something terrifying. Derek had not been turned down once since he became the alpha. One person had even sought him out and begged for the chance to receive the bite.

Derek supposed he should have expected this though, because Stiles was unlike any human he had ever been acquainted with. He was fascinated with the whole concept, eager to learn more about them and to devour every ounce of information offered. He accepted them into his life as if they were not dangerous creatures of the night, so willing to help them even if it placed himself in jeopardy.

For all of his enthrallment with their world though, Stiles was apparently utterly content to remain as he was. Here Derek was offering the chance to be something _more_ , something powerful and beautiful, and he wanted no part of it. He wanted to keep his fragile bones that could break so easily, soft and fair skin that bruised with the barest amount of pressure.

It was a display of strength beyond reason.

Derek was stronger than him by a hundredfold, yet he had never felt more powerless as he watched this little slip of a human boy shake his head as he uttered his refusal. It should have felt like a personal insult to hear the words " _I don't want to be like you_." He could not deny that it felt as if someone had delivered a physical blow.

Stiles was already _his_ by association whether he knew it or not, although Derek was not certain when he had first begun thinking of him in such terms. He was a member of this pack, of the once prestigious Hale Pack, and it only seemed appropriate to cement his position as a wolf. He would be a powerful asset and a glorious wolf, and Derek could admit to himself that he _wanted_ it to happen.

It had to be a choice though and Stiles had refused it.

Had it not been for the fact that Stiles seemed lost in his own little world and the odd blip in his heartbeat, Derek would have been outraged by the refusal and would have probably reacted badly. But he knew now that there was something going on that he was unaware of. He could feel it in his bones; he could smell the fear and sense the early stages of panic.

Shopping with Stiles had given him time to think about what it all could mean. He thought back on the little things he had noticed, the strange behavior regarding him in the car or when Derek got particularly annoyed. He was missing something here, something important. He thought that whatever it was could possibly explain why the boy was so easily frightened by him now when he had never been before.

Knowing that was somewhat pacifying and his suspicions had only been strengthened when he responded with easy acceptance to his rejection. Derek was not sure what Stiles felt the need to hide from him, but the relief he displayed was tangible when the subject was left forgotten. He was not completely satisfied, but if he ever wanted to gain his trust then he would have to let Stiles come to him about it rather than press the issue.

They had only been in the store for over thirty minutes when Derek felt a shiver go down his spine. He agitation was instantaneously, senses tuned into everything around him for any sign of trouble. The only thing he noticed was that the store manager, a portly man with a mustache, seemed to be keeping a close watch on them; he followed them at a distance between the aisles with a scowl on his weathered face.

It was unnerving and suspicious, at least until they moved onto the canned food aisle and Stiles had managed to trip over his own two feet. He would have knocked down the impressively stacked display of cans had it not been for Derek catching him in time to prevent it. He had initially been worried it was another dizzy spell, but Stiles had only smiled sheepishly as the manager glared at him for the narrowly escaped incident.

Apparently this was something of a reoccurrence.

Derek found himself watching the boy closely after that. He was surprised just how often he had to stop him from crashing into someone's ankles with the cart or from knocking something over. He had never really noticed before, but Stiles had trouble staying upright when he was lost in thought—which was often. He was _clumsy_. A whirl of uncoordinated limbs whilst distracted by the sale items, an entity lost within absent thoughts and musings.

It was rather amusing to watch. Derek wondered how he had never picked up on that detail before. Maybe it had to do with the fact that there was something strangely elegant about the way Stiles held himself or how confident he was when standing up against nefarious creatures thrice his size.

Even now as he stood there being purposely infuriating by taking ten minutes to weigh the pros and cons of some disgustingly sweet cereal, there was just a peculiar grace to Stiles despite his inherent twitchiness. He fidgeted, of course, unable to stay still for more than a second at a time, but it was still a curious discovery.

Derek sighed heavily as he waited for him to finish. He was grateful when the box was finally placed back on the shelf and they began moving again. He glanced over his shoulder, unable to throw off the feeling that he was still being watched, but the store manager seemed to have left once he realized that Derek would prevent any accidents.

"You _can_ wait in the car, you know?" Stiles said reproachfully, seemingly just choosing another box out of random that was then tossed in the cart without giving it the same inspection thorough process as he had with the other three.

It made his eye twitch with irritation, but Derek held his tongue on the matter. He eyed some of the items in the cart with a sneer of disdain, unable to get passed how repulsive some of it was to him. He hated the chemicals and preservatives laced in some of the indulgences, though he could get passed that. He could not, however, accept some of the _healthy_ alternatives.

Derek had been raised mainly on medium rare meats and a healthy serving of vegetables during his childhood. Outdoor barbeques after a long and satisfying hunt were a commonplace, especially with the population of deer that roamed their properties. He enjoyed homemade stews with corn bread too, even though his mother had only ever made it to ensure they actually ate their vegetables instead of just pretending to while really slipping it to their pets. Turkey bacon and meat substitutes sounded ridiculously unappealing and his stomach cringed in sympathy.

"Do you even actually eat any of this stuff?" he asked out of curiosity, taking a small package of something a light reddish brown color and flat with hundreds of small black speckles inside. What the hell was fruit leather? It looked like beef jerky gone wrong. He gave it a cursory sniff to identify it, it smelled of strawberries, but it certainly didn’t look like it.

Confirming his assessment, Stiles plucked it out of his hands and said, "Just the strawberry ones," He tossed it among the rest of his groceries. "Sometimes cherry too, but it has to be this brand because the other ones have very odd aftertastes that resemble soap."

Derek trailed a pace behind him, narrowing his eyes on a young teenage boy who was seemingly looking at the back of something; suspicion gnawed at his gut when he realized the item was upside down. "… Are you almost done?" he asked impatiently.

"Yes, dear," Stiles uttered drolly, a soft snicker of amusement escaping him when Derek scowled at the words. "Just need to stop by dairy to grab some milk and then the electronic section to get a phone," he assured him.

"A phone?" Derek frowned deeply tearing his eyes away from the boy to look at Stiles for an explanation. "Why do you need a phone?"

Stiles glanced at him in naked incredulity. "… The fact that you even have to ask that shows just how unobservant you are," he said with a shake of his head, continuing before the wolf could bristle at the insult. "Do you not recall the two plus hours we spent in the pool together? Or the fact that I let you go to make an urgent call for help that was ultimately ignored by my best friend?"

A sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. He could remember that night with startling clarity, could remember being suspended in the water and then slowly sinking to the bottom of the pool as if he weighed down by the paralytic toxin. It a night full of mistrust and disaster that ultimately turned out for the better, but Derek could also distinctly recall the answer to the question he'd asked once he had been pulled back to the surface.

Derek reached out and enclosed his fingers around the thin wrist. "You said McCall never answered your call," he reminded him evenly. "So what do you mean it was ultimately ignored?" He had a small inkling, but he hoped he was wrong.

"Can you just pretend that I didn't say that?" the boy asked reticently.

Derek was unable to keep the abrupt wave of fury from flowing through his veins, already knowing the answer without having to be told. He looked away briefly and concentrated on the heartbeat beside him to keep from shifting from his anger.

"I lied, okay?" Stiles confessed grudgingly, yet another untruth having gone unnoticed from the teen. "Scott did answer. He must have been really busy though, because he said he couldn't talk."

"He hung up on you."

Derek honestly had no idea why he was surprised. He knew Scott McCall had a lot of short comings, but he had never assumed that it extended so far. Stiles was unfailingly loyal to his best friend and he had assumed that Scott had been mutually invested in their friendship. His teeth gnashed together with ire; apparently he had overestimated the kind of man Scott was.

"You were calling him for help and he just _hung up_ on you?" he demanded to know, unable to contain the growl that escaped him when Stiles attempted to ignore the situation. The boy managed to dislodge his hand, pushing on as if nothing was wrong. "How are you not upset about this?" He was willing to overlook a lot of things, but he could see the weary defeat and it unsettled him greatly.

"What is the point?" Stiles questioned quietly. "He doesn't even realize what happened, so being angry with him would only make matters worse." He sighed a bit and stared ahead resolutely. "Besides, he still showed up in the end."

Derek gave him a severe look that went completely unnoticed since the boy was trying not to look at him. "Only because he wanted the bestiary which he thought was in your possession," he said. "Do you need me to tell you want could have happened if he had been too late? What about next time? What if you call him near death and he dismisses you again?"

For a long moment there was no answer.

"… I know," Stiles finally said, and his voice was so soft that it was almost inaudible. His shoulders curled forward, his head bowed as his eyes closed tight fleetingly. "I know, okay? Scott McCall is a selfish bastard and he never _thinks_ , especially not when it comes to me. He lets me down constantly, especially now with all your werewolf shit infiltrating my life, but excuse me for trying to be the bigger person here by trying not to punish him for it."

Derek only frowned deeper, trying to take calming breaths. He had to wonder just how many times in the past Scott had failed as a friend. It was commendable that Stiles was still so devoted nevertheless, so willing to overlook the errors despite how much it apparently hurt him. He never knew someone could be so altruistic.

"Then try not to think of it in terms of punishment," he said. "He needs to know regardless of your feelings, because his ignorance only means that it can happen again. He will never learn not to be so self-absorbed if we don't point out his mistakes." He let the boy mull over that for a moment.

Stiles gave him a baffled look. "When did you become the voice of reason in this relationship?" he asked, giving him a curious frown.

"What phone are you looking for?" Derek evaded skillfully. He was once again grateful that the boy had a rather short attention span since he was uncertain why the question made him feel quite so uneasy. He glanced at the phones, frowning when Stiles automatically went to one of the cheapest models.

Stiles held it in his hands, turning it over for a quick inspection. "This one will work," he said, something resigned in his voice as he put the display model back.

It was a rather pathetic phone, the kind parents usually bought to start their teenagers off with. The keypad was small, not really suitable for the amount of texting that usually went on nowadays, and the screen was microscopic in comparison to almost all the others on display. "… This is the one you want?" he asked in skepticism.

"Yes?"

Derek frowned at him doubtfully. "… Your other one was much better than this." He could remember it, a large touchscreen phone that was similar to his own phone.

"Uh huh," Stiles nodded slowly. "Your point, oh obvious one?"

Derek narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. "This isn't the phone you want."

"Yes it is," he denied unpersuasively. He sighed a moment later, rubbing at the back of his neck with a grimace. "Look, I already told you the other day, my money situation is kind of limited. Okay? This is all I can afford right now, so it will have to do."

Derek did indeed recall something about monetary issues being mentioned at one point, but it was not something he had paid much attention to. He raised an eyebrow at the boy who was adamant about settling for this cheap device. It was not really a large issue, because a phone was a phone, only a means of communication and not a breeding ground for game applications.

Glancing down at the rest of the phones all lined up, Derek gave them a considering look. He had plenty of money that remained untouched in his accounts, his own financial situation much better. He wanted to provide for his pack anyway, and this was something within the realm of his ability to provide at the moment.

"Just pick the one you want. Forget the price."

Stiles met his eyes in confusion. "What? I can't just…" His eyes widened in comprehension a second later. "Oh. Oh, no, you…" He shook his head obstinately. "No, really, the cheap one is fine, you don't need to—"

"It is partially my fault." Derek pointed out with a shake of his own head. Had it not been for him, Stiles would have not been anywhere near the pool at all.

"No," Stiles repeated in resolution, his cheeks reddened with refusal. "No, thanks for the offer man, but you have already spent enough money on me this week. You don't need to do this."

"Stiles," he said with vexation. "Just _pick one_."

Derek could not see the issue here. He had the funds; he would be able to purchase a better phone for the teenager. He would rather him have the one he wanted instead of this cheap imitator. He thought perhaps this could have to do with human pride, but he was the alpha. He was the one responsible for the financial support of his pack as well as their wellbeing.

"If it makes you so uncomfortable," he added. "Just think of it as thanks for saving my life."

Stiles glared at him. "You don't need to thank me!" he said crossly, voice raising enough to draw attention from the man at the cash register nearby. "It isn't like I expect some kind of payment for helping you. I saved your life because, believe it or not you stubborn ass of a wolf, I don't want you to die!"

It was a completely unexpected outburst, one that left Derek at a loss for words. He could only stare at Stiles, who was breathing heavily, his fair skin flushed red with the blood coursing through his cheeks and emanating heat. Derek could hear as his heart fluttered within the confines of his chest, the sound comforting despite the swiftness.

Stiles had once again managed to leave him reeling. He constantly interfered, stepping in countless times to save Derek from certain death. He never once asked for anything in return, not once acknowledging the debts Derek owed him for it. It had never occurred to him that Stiles only did it out of wanting to keep him alive, that Stiles _cared_.

Derek felt oddly heavy under such revelation. He was not good at communicating his own emotions and had no idea where to even begin to express himself in this situation, so he did what he did best and kept his silence. He ventured down the aisle and studied each phone carefully, completely ignoring the ones he felt were useless.

If the boy would not tell him which one he wanted, then Derek would pry it out of him the only way he knew how. "Is this the one you want?" he asked.

"No," Stiles said in bewilderment, shaking his head.

No blip in the sound; it was true.

Derek repeated this several times, each time receiving the same answer. He knew the only way to get a straight answer out of Stiles was to use direct questions that only required a yes or no answer. He only stopped when he heard the heartbeat skip, betraying the real answer to his sensitive ears.

It took a few minutes to secure the purchase after that. He paid for it with his credit card, smirking to himself as Stiles glared at him the whole while. Derek held the bag out for him to take once he was finished, tucking the receipt in the back pocket of his jeans.

Stiles took his new phone with a peevish glower. "No fair," he grumbled as they reached the checkout lines for the rest of the groceries. "You cheated! You used your wolf whammy on me." He sounded childish and his scent belied his words; he may have been annoyed at being tricked, but he was honestly pleased.

A certain sense of satisfaction filled Derek at that. He had finally found a way to determine some honesty, albeit with only direct questions. It was not much to go by, but it was enough for now. He would have to keep it in mind the next time he wanted some real answers without the hidden truths and omissions.

" _We'll jump the wolves when they come out,_ " a voice whispered almost as if it was directly spoken into his ear, and he froze, eyes flashing crimson in surprise. " _You boys need to be ready, because from the description Caleb gave us, one of them is Derek Hale. He is an alpha and will be the hardest to take out, but remember, we want him alive._ "

Derek glanced around him for the speaker, though he could only determine that the man was outside of the building. He turned to glance, his vision picking up movement just outside of the doors. His mind flashed back to the suspicious boy he had seen, how he had been holding that box upside down. He cursed himself inwardly for allowing himself to succumb to distractions, for not trusting his instincts that something was not right here.

"What is it?" Stiles asked him tentatively, a touch of wariness to his voice.

" _What about the other one?_ " another hunter asked this one seemingly younger. " _What should we do with it?_ "

Keys were in his hands before he could even formulate a plan. Derek only knew that he could not allow them to even see Stiles; he knew they would not even pause a moment to verify that the boy was a wolf first. They had already drawn their conclusions and there would be no correcting them. He shoved the keys forward, dropping them into Stiles' hand.

Stiles studied him in concern, touching his shoulder. "Derek?"

" _Most likely a beta,_ " the man said, confirming his fears. " _Subdue it the minute you see it. Betas are naturally weaker than alphas, but nine hundred thousand volts should do the trick. Slash its throat once it's down and then cut it in half, otherwise it will regenerate._ "

The words said so dismissively only worked to draw a vicious snarl from his throat. He could feel the same sort of frenzy encompass him as it had this morning; it erupted out of him in the face of the threat more uncontrollably than before. He was lost in the red haze again, barely even conscious, but this time he welcomed it because he could determine at least five individual heartbeats gathered in waiting.

Derek knew he was severely outnumbered and swore a low oath. He had to try though; he needed to draw them away. He was the one they wanted anyway, so hopefully they would forget about Stiles entirely if he gave them what they wanted. He turned his heel, hoping that Stiles would take the hint and leave, retreat to safety, and he rushed forward.

Rudely pushing passed people in his haste, Derek emerged from the grocery store with his claws already out. Five hunters stood around casually by the store entrance, lingering near the crosswalk into the parking lot. He recognized none of their faces, though suspected they were part of the sudden influx of hunters in his territory.

Their weapons were concealed as inconspicuously as possible, but were drawn the instant they saw his partial transformation. Derek growled at them menacingly, advancing enough to ensure they understood exactly who he was. He heard cries from the younger boys, startled by his appearance, probably having never seen a real werewolf in person.

"This is the alpha," the eldest hunter said evenly, keeping a wary hand on the electrical charged baton. "See the eyes? Alpha males have very distinctive red eyes, while their alpha bitches have more of an amber color."

"See how dark red his are?" one of the boys said, excitement in his voice. "This one is close to being rabid. Right, dad?"

Derek roared at them in anger and rushed forward without warning. He hated that they were treating this as some sort of hunting lesson. He hated that they seemed to think this was some sort of father and son bonding experience too. He hated it even more that they could see the madness in him just by looking.

All of the hunters scattered to evade him.

Attacking had not been his intention though. He ran through the path that cleared for him in their fear and continued on passed them. A row of cars hindered him for a split second, but he crouched slightly, the muscles of his legs bunching up, and he vaulted up in a high arc. He made the jump with ease, soaring high over them and landing steadily on his feet.

Derek could hear them giving chase behind him, but the acrobatics had given him a momentary head start. Their footfalls rang loud and clear in his ears as they hurried after him, and he darted around one of the other buildings. He could lose them if he could reach the forest and then he could double back around and track Stiles down before they remembered him.

Clearing the alleyway, another heartbeat just ahead reached his senses a moment too late and he collapsed to the ground as the bullet went through his side. He pressed his forehead into the asphalt, gnashing his fangs together against the pain. He could hear the others catch up as he tried to catch his breath through the throbbing

It had been fired through a silencer, obviously in an attempt to prevent from attracting any attention to their activities. His ears still rang though, the sound cutting through him just as the bullet had. His only relief was that it was only the one bullet, one not even laced with wolfsbane. He could feel the wound already healing even, expelling the foreign object and beginning to seal over. But it still hurt like hell.

"Good job, Caleb," the man praised. "As you boys can see, even the most powerful alpha can be taken down with relative ease. You just have to know how to do it. Regular bullets won't kill them and it only takes minutes to heal, but it will still subdue them."

Another hunter agreed, "Nice one."

"You got him!"

Derek bared his teeth at them, unable to do anything when the man struck him on the back with the baton. Electrical current raced through his body, his every nerve laced with fire as it was held there to cause the most amount of damage. He clenched his eyes shut, falling back to a knee. He could barely breathe even once it was taken away.

The eldest hunter crouched down, reaching forward to grasp his jaw. Derek was powerless to prevent it, weakened and hurt, forced to allow the touch with little more than a deep growl at the violation. The man fearlessly peeled back his upper lip, displaying the impressive canines for the rest to see.

"This is what causes the most damage," he pointed out. "Their incisors are akin to a real wolf, though a bit sharper even. I have seen these fangs tear through men like a knife through butter before. But it is their saliva you really want to watch out for. Never let it near your cuts, otherwise you risk being infected."

Derek was released dismissively, pushed away back onto the ground. He tried not to cry out when the baton was held directly against his head. He could barely hear it when the hunter handed the weapon off to his son, instructing him to continue the so called lesson. He panted on the ground, claws scratching uselessly against the blacktop below him.

Helpless whimpers escaped him as he was brutally poked and prodded with the weapon, the younger man showing no mercy. He was sadistic in his attacks, holding it longer and longer while Derek seized in agony every time. He heard a noise throughout his torment, something loud and blaring that shrieked through his head something terrible.

Some of the hunters left when it happened to investigate, though their absence did nothing to stop the assault. Tremors wracked through him, his muscles spasming uncontrollably, the damage to his nerves so much that he was not healing properly. He thought he may have even lost consciousness at one point. He refused to give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream though; he had withstood assaults worse than this from his own mate before.

Compared to that, this was nothing.

Suddenly the pain just stopped. Derek writhed there with aftershocks for a long moment, his mind drawn to the sound of something heavy falling beside him. He opened his eyes weakly, turning his head to find the man on the ground, saliva and a hint of blood smeared all down his chin and his neck. He could smell burnt flesh and pain that was not his own.

Where the hunter had previously been standing now stood Stiles. His face was horrified and frightened, stricken pale white by the circumstances, though there was something determined in his eyes as he stared down at the man, a taser still buzzing with electricity in his hand. In his other hand was the can of pepper spray he had threatened Erica with the other day.

Once again Stiles was placing himself in jeopardy, willing to face trained hunter that had felled Derek within minutes, armed with only a taser and some pepper spray. "Run," he tried to order, though all that came out was a frantic breath. His body trembled, both with a newfound urgency and with the remnants of his torture. "Run…"

 _Stiles_ … he thought helplessly, unable to move as Caleb, the son of the unconscious hunter, rushed forward to retaliate. He cringed as the poisonous scent of wolfsbane filled the air with a bitter taste, other potent scents following it as it was sprayed directly into the face of the attacker. The assailant screamed and lurched backwards, one of the others moving around him with a knife as he fell to the ground, grasping his face as he cried.

"Come on, you mangy mutt," the other one said loudly, the knife in his hands over six inches long and deadly sharp. "Come on!"

The boy darted forward, laughing victoriously as he drew blood when Stiles was too slow to move away in time. Stiles gasped in surprise and pain though managed not to cry out. He was momentarily stunned, but he recovered quickly as the other boy attacked again.

There was something about the fragrant scent of Stiles' blood that forced a whine out of Derek. His own body was incredibly weakened, not responding to his desperate attempts to rise and fend off their assailants. He was tempted to jump start the healing process, to maybe break his own fingers so it would trigger something within his body.

Derek was distracted from that idea though when a leg came conveniently into his reach; he reacted to it without thinking, hand striking out with one quick jab. Blood coated his claws as a scream echoed in his hears and he only dug his claws in harder, pushing deep enough that he could feel bone. He held fast when the boy tried to escape, the struggle only causing his claws to tears through the flesh.

It was clearly so painful that the boy fainted with another whimper. But this was far from over; the others who had left would have heard the screams. He gasped for breath, swallowing as he struggled onto his knees. It was hard enough to do as much and he doubted he could make it to his feet.

"Stiles," he said tiredly, the name coming out harsh and broken. He looked up and was suddenly immobilized with panic. The three other hunters had returned just as he suspected they would, one attempting to sneak up on the vulnerable teen with a blade in hand. "Stiles!"

Stiles reacted to his unspoken warning, turning around to face his attacker, the can of pepper spray still in hand. His gasp of pain cut through all other sounds. The blade was long enough that the very tip of it pierced all the way through his thin body, sticky crimson liquid already staining the back of a blue and green flannel shirt.

A helpless roar of fury erupted from his throat as Stiles murmured an almost inaudible sound. Infuriated and desperate with concern, Derek redoubled his efforts to stand, only managing to make it onto his feet before he collapsed forward. He crawled anyway, barely aware of his own pain anymore, everything in him warring between tearing the hunters apart and lapping at the wound to make it go away.

"Oh God," one of the hunters whispered a moment later. "He's not healing."

Stiles wavered in place once the blade was suddenly withdrawn. He was completely unresponsive to the world, staring out blankly in front of him with one hand pressed against the gushing hole in his stomach. His heartbeat was slowing at a frighteningly swift pace, no longer steady and comforting, and then he was suddenly falling backwards. Derek was unable to reach him in time, whining deep in his throat as his body impacted hard with the ground.

Above him the adolescent hunters had finally realized what they had done.

"That one is human!" one cried in shock.

"You stabbed him," another whispered. "Kevin, you stabbed him!"

"I didn't know!" Kevin defended his voice shaky and scared. "He… i-it was his own fault! He's the one who came at me! How was I supposed to know he wasn't a wolf?"

Derek could ignore them all for now, allow them to argue and rationalize the severity of their actions as long as they kept their distance. He knew they were not to blame for the way they were being raised, but right now if they even attempted to come near he would kill them all without a second thought. He was tempted to do it anyway, but he had more important matters right now.

"Stiles?" he questioned softly. He reached the teen, crouching over him in a protective stance in case the other three managed to regain consciousness or overcome their own pain. Stiles had done a good job at subduing the first two though; they probably wouldn't be getting up too soon. He nearly choked as the smell of the blood stung his sensitive nose, leaking from the two wounds.

One was down the entire length of his forearm, thankfully nowhere near the artery, but it was a deep cut, and the other was through his lower abdomen, more toward the left side than the middle. It was hard to tell just how much of the blood had come from the wound in his abdomen since his arm was pressed against his stomach. Derek tried to recall if the knife would have pierced any vital organs. He doubted it would matter either way, considering just how much blood the boy had already lost and was still losing.

Derek growled angrily in impotent frustration as the heartbeat slowed even more, no longer the prominent sound in his mind. "Stiles? Stiles, can you hear me?" He pressed his own hand over the one already against the wound, attempting to staunch the flow of more blood. It was everywhere; it was all over him, his face and hands, staining their clothes and the ground.

Stiles only continued to stare up at the sky above him, seemingly unaware of anything going on around him. His eye fluttered closed every few seconds, though he was completely unresponsive, obviously in shock, and what little color his skin held during the fight had been washed away alarmingly. But he was still alive. He was still alive.

Suddenly a low hiss penetrated his senses.

Horror turned the blood in his veins to ice as Derek realized where he knew the sound from; it was achingly familiar, the same noise that had kept him trapped in a high school lap pool for hours. He snapped his head up toward it, eyes narrowing on the long, malleable serpentine tail that whipped through the air lightning quick.

Above him the hunter boys began to panic, suddenly become aware of this unknown entity that had decided to investigate the commotion. One by one they fell, screaming with terror and shock as their bodies betrayed them by succumbing to the toxic venom the creature secreted, landing in a pile on top of one another. They never even stood a chance.

Hissing threateningly as a warning, the kanima backed away from the three boys, instead turning its attention onto the other three already on the ground. It hissed at them too, the tail lashing out to deliver three more precise scratches to the back of their necks. They never even had a chance to defend themselves and it had taken less than three seconds.

Derek growled instinctively as it drew nearer, fully prepared to fight until his last breath if he had to. He narrowed his eyes, watching as it first approached the bloodstained knife that had clattered to the ground when the hunter dropped it. A long tongue extended from the vicious maw of the beast, tasting the blood that was still trickling out against his own palm.

It made a noise then, a strange cry that sounded tortured and violent all in one breath and lowered itself closer to the ground, attempting to come closer. Glowing orange and yellow eyes were fixated low and staring at the dazed boy on the ground and completely ignoring the growling werewolf currently crouched defensively.

By the time it came within reach, Derek had mostly regained control of his extremities, able to lash out with a swift swipe of his claws. Another hiss filled the air and it backed up slightly, no retaliation for the attack. Derek kept a wary eye on it as it began to circle round, ready to pounce should it decide to come at him again.

The thing smelled strange, the scent unfamiliar, and it seemed entirely unconcerned with Derek and surprisingly unthreatening considering their previous encounter. It paced around almost curiously, head tilting in a very animal way as it made a full circle again.

Below a soft moan sounded, momentarily distracting Derek and he looked down before he could stop himself to find Stiles staring at the creature with half opened eyes. He looked so tired, so drained of everything. His skin was like ice, too cool to the touch. He was clearly in a lot of pain, but he only frowned tiredly.

"What does it want?" he asked, his voice coming out in a soft rasp. His eyes fluttered as he spoke, closing tentatively for a long worrying moment, before he managed to open them again, losing the battle to stay conscious. His seemed unaware that his body was trembling violently. "Why isn't it attacking?"

No response could even be formed or spoken because the kanima threw its head back suddenly and released a loud, desolate screech. He bared his teeth at the creature, the question left unanswered and forgotten. He was sure it meant to attack with such a cry, but then something happened that filled him with dread; another screech answered back from a few miles away from where they were.

It was a similar cry even, the same serpentine quality to it.

Derek came to the startling conclusion that the kanima was not alone, and then the creature simply stared down at Stiles one last time and simply leaped away in a single bound, disappearing from sight. He flattened himself, unsure if this were some kind of trick or not, to fool him into dropping his guard.

After a long moment of no incident, the werewolf rose cautiously back onto his knees. He had no idea what to think. His heart felt as if it were trying to burst from his chest, his mind was completely vacant save for a single thought. There was no red haze to blame this time, his every instinct for once in accord with his own will. He shredded the shirt below him open to get a better look at the wound, swallowing as blood obscured the area.

It was jagged and rounded instead of a single long thin line and it took Derek a moment to realize just why that was. The knife had been twisted to inflict as much damage as possible, to prevent the knife from being pulled out smoothly, and to make sure it took longer to heal. His hands shook with equal parts rage and anguish that the young human had been subjected to such violence. He tried not to let his emotions show as Stiles met his eyes.

Stiles was clearly on the cusp of falling unconscious, but despite that fact he smiled a lopsided smile at him. "It doesn't hurt anymore," he said softly, and the words were alarming because at least some pain meant that Stiles was not too far gone in shock. People could die from shock, and the boy was far too close to death as it was.

Derek pressed his hand firmly onto the wound, knowing the blade had caused more damage than he initially thought and needing to apply more pressure to compensate. He was afraid to move Stiles to check where the blade had gone all the way through though, not wanting to cause him more pain. He clenched his teeth together, not knowing what to do.

Instinct drove Derek to call for the rest of the pack first. He knew it reached them when they each began responding. Boyd and Erica sounded closest and were the first to answer, and then Scott howled back after a short pause, all three signaling they were on their way. Isaac did not respond, but if he was still with the sheriff then it would be difficult for him to get away. He knew it would only take the others a few minutes to arrive.

Feeling relieved that they would be here soon, Derek finally looked back down. "Help is on the way," he promised him, though waiting for even just a single moment was torture.

Stiles smiled again, his voice impossibly quieter when he spoke. "You have beautiful eyes," he said as his own eyes fluttered again. His words were worrying, not making any sense. His entire body suddenly went disturbingly slack though, and Derek had no time to dwell on it.

"Stiles? Stiles!" Derek have his shoulder a gentle shake, calling out again. "Stiles, you need to fight it. Stay awake," He shook him again, but his eyes refused to open. He looked so pale, so… still. Derek peeled his hand back for a moment, wincing as another gush of blood spilled forward.

Everything in him salivated with encouragement to bite. He tried to dismiss it, but the need was intense. It would make it all better. Stiles would heal completely within a few hours and Derek would have the young man officially in his pack as a wolf. He dismissed it with great reluctance though. It had to be a choice and Stiles had already made his position clear.

Derek would not bite him against his wishes, not until there was no other option. Another alternative would be to seal the injury shut, but he knew that the laceration was far too deep for that. There was no guarantee that he could heal any of the internal injuries too. He could make it worse if he did that. Not to mention the hunter was right to a certain extent that his saliva would spread the infection.

It took a certain degree of intent to infect someone though. He already knew what his own intention would be; there was a chance that trying to clean and heal the hurt would only cause what Stiles did not want. He howled with helpless frustration, slamming his fist so hard into the asphalt below that it shattered beneath his rage.

"Derek!"

Erica came to a sudden stop from her sprint. Her breath caught and her brown eyes grew wide at the sight of the immobilized hunters. She shook her head a second later, her eyes flashing gold when she caught scent of the blood. Her whole body quivered, salty tears brimming as she dropped to her knees beside him.

"Oh God," she whispered in horror, her hands shaking as she touched the unconscious teen. "Stiles? Is he...?"

Derek thundered a roar at her for even suggesting it; his voice was intensified unnaturally even to his own ears. "No!" He took a deep, calming breath as she cowered away, but all he could smell was the blood. He shook his head clear. "No," he said softer, reaching out for her with his free hand.

"We have to get him to a hospital," Erica said, nuzzling her nose into his palm, her eyes glued to the gruesome scene. "Or…?"

Derek knew what her alternative was and closed his eyes tight for a fleeting moment. "No," he said evenly, hoping his own resolved would not waver with the wavering heartbeat. His eyes flickered to Boyd as he arrived. "He said no."

"Police are on their way," Boyd warned him quickly, his voice faltering slightly. His eyes never once moved away from the blood on the ground. "Someone called a few minutes ago about a possible mugging back here. I give it about seven minutes until they get here."

Scott was the last to arrive, completely out of breath as he skidded to a stop. He shook his head in denial, fists clenched as he blinked rapidly. "Stiles," he breathed out, stumbling forward and curling down beside them. "Stiles? Stiles…" He shook his head again, turning tearstained golden eyes on Derek with accusation. "You said we could protect him," he whispered brokenly.

"… I know," he agreed regretfully.

Sirens sounded in the distance, drawing closer to their location.

"Should we call an ambulance?" Boyd asked hesitantly, giving the hunters a heavy glare. He kicked one of them in the side savagely, eliciting a pained moan from the man.

Scott shook his head urgently. "No, it will take too long to get here!" he cried, his voice taking on a hysterical note. He stood back up and fisted his hair frantically, his tanned face abnormally ashen. He turned to look at the alpha desperately. "Bite him."

Derek wished they would stop bringing up that option because it was becoming more and more difficult to recall why not to give in. He clenched his eyes shut. "No."

"Is he not good enough for you?" Scott demanded wildly. "You bit everyone else! He would want you to…"

Derek had no time to argue with him or even ponder why exactly he seemed to know more about what Stiles wanted than Scott did. He knew how Scott regarded the bite—he saw it as a curse, something that ruined his life beyond measure, yet here he was so willing to have it administered to his best friend without his consent. It was something he would have to think on later though.

Every moment they sat here debating on what to do, more precious blood seeped from the injury and pooled around them. He was running out of time; he needed to make a decision on what to do immediately. He knew Scott was right about the ambulance. It would take too long to get here and then just as much time to get back. He could run though, faster than any vehicle could ever make the trip.

Everyone cringed as Stiles released a soft moan when he was scooped up, the movement aggravating his wounds. "Someone needs to stay here to clean up the hunters," Derek said, adjusting the boy more comfortably in his arms. "To come up with something to say to the police about it when they get here…"

"We witnessed the attempted mugging," Erica suggested quickly. "Scott was here too, he took the car to get Stiles to the hospital in time."

Boyd nodded. "You were never here."

"Scott, you're with me," Derek commanded to no protest, acutely aware of the crimson liquid soaking through his dark attire. "Keep an eye out, the kanima was here and apparently it isn't alone. Be careful." He broke into a run without waiting for a reply, his arms burdened with a cold body that was too still for comfort.

Derek held him close as he ran as fast as he could. He could hear Scott attempting to keep up behind him; the younger wolf fell behind a few times, unable to keep the brutal pace for so long, but he managed to catch up by the time the large building loomed in the distance. He slowed to a stop once they reached the emergency entrance.

"Let me take him," Scott insisted directly, holding his arms out. "No one can see you, especially not like that," he said reasonably when Derek hesitated, his voice growing louder in his anxiety. "Erica said I was the one to bring him, remember? Our stories need to match up!"

Derek clenched his jaw and reluctantly did as he requested. They were as gentle as they could be as they made the exchange, every hitch in Stiles' breath causing them both to wince in response. Scott cradled him carefully, nodding once before he burst through the doors and ran right up to the receptionist.

"Please, I need help!" he told her frantically, the desperation in his voice causing the elderly woman to gasp. She was in motion immediately, calling for a stretcher and a doctor.

Derek listened from outside, hidden behind the large bush just beside the door and still within hearing distance. He heard them wheel Stiles away for some sort of emergency procedure to repair the damage. Scott relayed the cover story about a mugging when the doctors demanded to know what happened. It was a story that could only explain so much though.

Nothing could really explain how all of the assailants had managed to become paralyzed, not unless the toxin wore off by the time police arrived at the scene. He doubted it would though; he knew for a fact that the effects lasted over two and a half hours. He could only hope that Erica would be able to fabricate a plausible explanation for it.

The rest was in the hands of the doctors. Derek could only wait for it to be over. He would listen carefully though and if the heartbeat continued to weaken… he would do what he had to do to keep it beating even if it meant Stiles would hate him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully no one minded seeing the same events from the different perspective. I kind of just wanted to write the attack how Derek saw it, since he was a bit more aware of what was going on around him instead of just continuing where the other chapter left off :)


	11. Meaningless Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you even know what honor is?" he asked. "It is just a meaningless word until people give it value. It is something that has to be earned, just like respect. Honor is standing up for what you believe in."

### Meaningless Word

Stiles slowly came into awareness. He felt strange. His mouth was parched and his tongue was oddly heavy. His body felt heated, but still slightly numbed. His limbs… it was almost as if he had little to no control over them, his movements lethargic and jerky when he tried to shift.

There was also something constricting one of his fingers, keeping it from bending, and it was uncomfortable. He could feel something on his face too, snaking around from behind his ears and meeting just beneath his nose, an odd smell assaulting his senses as he breathed in the rush of air.

Opening his eyes proved to be difficult. His eyelids felt heavy, almost as if they were weighed down by lead. He clenched them shut as soon as they were opened, the light all around him making his eyes burn with a gamut of fanatical colors. He waited a moment before trying again, blinking rapidly to clear up the blurry images around him. He felt incredibly weak, unable to even move his head much.

There was a window beside him, an assortment of cards and brightly colored flowers all displayed there. He spotted a teddy bear and a stuffed wolf among the pile. It took him several minutes to realize where he was; this was a hospital. He rapidly recalled what happened, though it was vague mess of non-sequential details. It took him a while to sort through it all. He had been with Derek, they had been shopping together at the grocery store… and then there had been hunters. His memories were a bit fuzzy, not entirely clear even as he concentrated, but he thought that maybe one of them had stabbed him.

Stiles weakly lifted a hand. He moved slowly, maneuvering it over his stomach, feeling along the edge of the bandage taped to his body. He could feel a dull throbbing there, but it was faint, possibly due to some kind of pain medication. His arm was also wrapped in a similar bandage, the skin itching and feeling a bit tender.

Someone had really stabbed him.

Out of all the times Stiles had been chased by vicious werewolves and stalked by venomous kanimas and gotten away mostly unscathed, he had been victim to a _knife_ by a human being. Good to know that people were still psychotic; he would take supernatural beings over humans any day, because at least they made sense in a crazy sort of way whereas people were just insane to deal with.

Stiles frowned suddenly as he recalled a flash of scales and glowing orange eyes. He distinctly remembered seeing the kanima at some point. He half wondered if he imagined it, some sort of pain induced hallucination, not exactly certain how the reptilian creature fit into the chaotic mess of what happened.

Had it attacked once the hunters had finished? What was it even doing there? Had Derek subdued it? Killed it even? Where was Derek? Was he okay? Stiles tried desperately to fill in the blanks, but all he eventually remembered was that the kanima had taken out all of the hunters. He was not sure what transpired after that, but considering he was in a hospital room, he figured that Derek must have at least scared it off.

Stiles gave up after a while when his head began to ache. He sighed and shifted his eyes around the dimly lit room, belatedly realizing that it was not quite as bright as he first suspected it was. The lights above were not even on, the only source of light coming from the window, so the room was somewhat dark. He found wires leading from his body to the machines that hummed gently beside his bed and identified the thing around his finger as a heart monitor. He was hooked up to an intravenous line, a clear packet of saline hanging by him.

There was another needle secured to his skin, directly in a vein. The line was just a few inches long and it lead to nothing, looping back on itself and clipped off. But there were remnants of something red inside the tube, something he quickly identified as blood. His stomach churned when he realized that and he had to look away from it. He thought it might have been from a blood transfusion.

Had his injuries really been so serious? He was still alive, so it couldn't have been all that bad… right? He swallowed dryly and shook his head. He wondered just how long he had been lying here. Obviously his wounds had yet to heal, but he certainly felt like he had been resting for days. He felt so confused and extremely tired.

Suddenly the door to the room began to open.

Stiles flashed his eyes to it quickly, attempting to sit up. He felt rather vulnerable lying prostrate on the hospital bed, but it proved more than a little difficult for him to move at all. He gave up as light suddenly flooded into the room, brighter than what was filtered through the window. He closed his eyes against it, waiting until he heard the door close again before he looked to see who it was.

A woman dressed in blue scrubs immediately moved to the foot of the bed to retrieve the clipboard stationed there; she did not notice he was awake at first. Instead she read through the chart with a tried frown and then began systematically checking all of the machines hooked up to his body. He recognized the dark, curly hair currently pulled back into a long tail and the kind, beautiful face even without the identification badge visible.

It was Melissa McCall. He knew she worked here nightly, so it was no real surprise to see her, but it was indeed good to see a friendly face amongst the confusion.

"Mrs. McCall," he sound loudly to catch her attention, though it came out little more than a hoarse whisper with his dry throat. He smiled tiredly, noting the relief shining in her dark eyes as she set the clipboard back down and approached his bedside.

"Hello Stiles," she replied softly, reaching out to touch his hand briefly. "How are you doing, sweetheart? Are you in any pain?"

Stiles smiled slightly at the matronly tone, though he realized how worried she must have been just by how she spoke. "Not bad," he assured her. "Just… a little uncomfortable and really tired…" He swallowed again, wishing he had something to wet his mouth.

Melissa must have recognized his expression. "Do you want some ice chips? Your saline drip is keeping you hydrated, but I imagine your mouth is dry as a desert," She left when he nodded, returning a few moments later with a small cup of ice. "Tomorrow we can get you one of those big plastic mugs with a bendy straw full of cold water, okay?"

"Awesome," he murmured, eyes closing against his will as she held a cube of ice against his lips, letting it melt. It was not much, but it helped quite a bit. "What time is it?"

"Three in the morning," Melissa answered, smiling wryly as she perched beside his legs on the bed. "Now I know where you get your bullheadedness from. Your father refused to leave your bedside for four days straight. He has practically lived in this room since you got out of surgery. I had to bully him home just a while ago because he was beginning to smell."

Stiles grinned tiredly. "Sounds like him," he agreed, knowing just how difficult his father could be on occasion, especially when he was worried. He frowned suddenly, her words replaying in his head. "Wait… four days? I have been sleeping here like this for four days?"

"Four long days," she confirmed sadly, patting his hand. "You were brought to the emergency room on Saturday afternoon and it's just now Tuesday, so you were actually only unconscious for a little less than three of those days. I'm so glad that you woke up… for a moment there, we feared you would slip into a coma."

"… Is it bad that I still want to sleep?"         

Melissa smiled at him. "Of course not," she told him, rising and placing the cup of ice on the table beside the bed. "I need to go inform your doctor that you woke up on your own anyway." She unexpectedly bent at the waist, leaning over him to press her soft lips against his forehead. "Go ahead and get some more rest."

Stiles sighed once she was gone, feeling sedate and comforted. He really liked Melissa; she had been such a big part of his life, especially after his own mother had passed. She humored him for the most part, even with some of the harebrained schemes that got him and Scott into trouble, though she put her foot down once or twice and left him properly cowed.

Melissa was a formidable woman. He was glad she was usually on his side.

Stiles could already feel his eyelids growing heavy again. He settled back into the bed, not even enough energy in him to adjust the pillow properly. His mind wondered as he listened to the machines hum quietly around him, going back to what happened once again. He really hoped that Derek was alright.

Despite the vagueness of the memories, Stiles could recall enough to know that the hunters had Derek _down_. He had just been there on the ground, barely able to move. It made Stiles really worried at just how the werewolf fared right now, because the last time he had been hurt enough to stay down like that was that night at the school two months ago.

Derek had been lifted in the air and impaled with long, dangerous claws, blood seeping from his mouth as his face contorted in agony. He had been flung then, all the way into the bricks of the school building; he was just carelessly tossed aside. He had looked dead. Stiles and Scott had both assumed the worst when it happened.

It was only after all the smoke cleared that they discovered he was alive. He had still been wounded, hurt enough that it took a few days for him to show his face again. But he knew now that the fact that the alpha had inflicted the injury which meant it had taken longer to heal. The hunters had only been using the cattle prod… so Derek should be fine by now… right?

Stiles wished he could remember it all more clearly. Not knowing how the sour wolf was doing right now was making him anxious. He really hoped everything was okay.

Eventually his mind quieted. He was lulled into sleep, still immersed in his own thoughts and worries. He woke in sporadic periods throughout the next several hours, never for very long before he succumbed to slumber once again. He saw Melissa a few more times before her shift ended and she was replaced by some blond woman whose name escaped him. His doctor talked to him briefly as well, though only enough to check his vitals. He felt well rested by the time the sun began to rise outside, the light slowly illuminating his darkened room.

Thankfully Stiles was awake when his father returned. He looked almost as tired as Stiles felt, the lines of his face seeming deeper than they had been the last time they saw each other. His aged face had cleared and brightened when their eyes met though and then the sheriff drew near; he had immediately sat on the bed and gathered him up in a gentle embrace.

"Stiles," he breathed out, clutching him with exaggerated gentleness to avoid aggravating the injuries. His hands smoothed mildly over his back, moving erratically though not quite touching. He just hovered there, being careful not to touch the bandages. "I'm so glad you're alright son."

Stiles weakly returned the embrace, closing his eyes tight as he buried his face in his neck. "Me too," It was warm with his father wrapped around him, body radiating the heat that the hospital room seemed to leech from him. His father smelled of cinnamon and sandalwood, of the curly fries he liked to sneak and small traces of laundry detergent and of gun oil too.

Home; he smelled like home.

"Never scare me like that again," his father said sternly, though his voice cracked a bit. "You scared the hell out of me kid."

It hit Stiles suddenly that his father would have probably seen the crime scene behind the store. He would have been one of the first responders too. Stiles winced slightly, knowing his clothes had undoubtedly been taken for evidence, and from what he could remember, they had been soaked through with his blood. He couldn't imagine what his father must have been through these past few days.

Stiles swallowed thickly. "Sorry," he apologized, attempting to make it sound jesting, something he could tack a playful comment onto, but it came out heavy and sad despite his best efforts. He felt a hand pressed between his shoulder blades, just a gentle pressure, keeping him in place for a while longer.

"You put in all of that hard work and dedication to extend my life by carefully monitoring everything I eat," the man said, shaking his head with mock sadness. He pulled away slowly, reluctantly, smiling as he broke any remaining tension himself. "Then you go and ruin it all by shaving ten years off my life with this stunt."

"That just means we'll have to redouble our efforts to stay healthy," Stiles replied just as teasingly. "Don't worry we can add another ten years back in no time."

"Guess so," he nodded. "Just no more arugula salads though, okay?"

"Hey! You said you liked it."

"… I lied."

Stiles grinned slightly, easing back into the pillows when it became too hard to hold himself upright. "Shame on you, old man," he snickered. He had missed this; the easy flow of conversation always seemed so strained anymore that he almost forgot what it felt like to have his father tease him and to tease back.

"Listen kiddo," his father sighed a while later, adopting a heavy tone. "There is something we need to talk about…"

"My official statement might be a bit confusing," Stiles interjected hurriedly, wincing because his quick defense was _not_ suspicious at all. He had no idea what anyone else may have already said and the last thing they needed was to get caught in another lie. "Everything is just kind of… hazy. I don't remember much about it at all—"

"No, son," he shook his head. "… I am actually not allowed to help with the investigation, so I won't be the one to take your statement. Conflict of interest," he added when Stiles frowned in confusion. "This isn't like the other times when you are somehow involved in things you have no business in. _You_ were the target. Because of that, I needed to let the others handle it otherwise I would have…" He didn't have to say what he would have done to the people responsible for Stiles to get the idea. "I imagine one of the boys will be over later to talk to you."

"Okay, then… what did we need to talk about?"

"How well do you know Isaac Lahey?"

Stiles tensed momentarily before he managed to catch himself. "Well enough," he said tactfully, narrowing his eyes a bit. "We are both on the lacrosse team after all, both second string too, so we usually spend a lot of time together just sitting there and watching the rest of the team play. He is… kind of shy."

"He's definitely not the most trusting individual," his father agreed, something heavy in his voice as he rubbed his face.

"Can you really blame him?" Stiles asked quietly.

"No," He shook his head. "I really can't."

Stiles frowned slightly. "Did… were you able to get him exonerated?" he asked carefully, suddenly worried when his father stared hard down at his hands. He was still uncertain how his plan worked out.

The last time he had seen Isaac, the other boy had been climbing into the back of a police car to go give a carefully rehearsed statement of his own to possibly clear the charges against him. The last thing Stiles intended was to get Isaac into any more trouble, so he really hoped he hadn’t actually made matters worse with his meddling.

"By willingly turning himself in, Isaac was granted leniency for fleeing and in light of some new evidence, he is no longer our main suspect," his father said carefully, though Stiles had little time to internally celebrate before he continued, "He is still a person of interest, but mostly in the clear. Stiles… I need to ask your something important and I need you to be honest with me here, okay?"

Stiles bit down on his bottom lip and nodded.

"Are you comfortable being around Isaac after…" The man reached out to touch the side of his neck, brushing over the skin there gently, indicating to the thin wound that was already healed there. "I know he seemed more upset about it than you were at the time, but… after what happened at the grocery store…"

"It was just an accident," Stiles told him, not quite sure where this was going. Did his father want him to put out a restraining order or something? "Isaac… he was just scared and I know he never actually meant to do it. It was my fault and… well, you saw how he reacted."

"I saw it," his father said wryly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. His expression cleared a second later, back to regarding him seriously. "Isaac doesn't make you uncomfortable? You would be okay to be around him?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, it would be fine. Why?"

"Isaac has no other living family, at least no one that we can get in contact with," he told him. "Because of that, Isaac decided to petition for emancipation, so he can be considered a legal adult and allowed to live on his own. He filed it with the court already and he has a meeting scheduled to discuss it on in a few days…"

Emancipation was actually a very good idea, especially since Stiles had forgotten the fact that Isaac was on his own now that his father was gone. Isaac was only a few months older than him if he remembered right, which put him just shy of seventeen. He would be considered a ward of the state without any legal guardian.

"Isaac meets the majority of the requirements," his father continued, watching his reactions carefully. "He has a full time job, steady income and he inherited everything that was under his father's name… but living in that house seems like it would only cause him more trauma. He needs a new environment; somewhere he can feel safe… he needs to be around people who will take care of him."

Stiles had a sudden inkling of what his father was getting at. "You want Isaac to live with us?" he asked, a bit blown away when the man nodded seriously. He was honestly taken aback by the notion, though not exactly opposed to the idea.

Their house had a decent sized guest bedroom that was nearly untouched. Relatives lived too far away to visit often, so the room was just sitting there and collecting dust. It would also be practical on the bodyguard front, since Isaac seemed to be the one taking the most shifts. Hiding down in the bushes seemed a bit silly when he could just live there.

Stiles also kind of liked the idea of having someone else permanently in residence for when his father worked late nights. He would probably never admit it out loud, but it got lonely in that big house by himself. He'd already decided that he liked Isaac too after being around him more recently, so he had no doubt they would get along well enough.

Isaac deserved to have people in his life that would take care of him; besides, Stiles had totally always wanted a brother.

"I wanted to clear it with you before I discussed it with him," his father added. "So if you are uncomfortable with the idea, we can just forget it."

Stiles smiled at him. "We need to buy him a new bedding set," he said by way of answer. "Because somehow, I don't think the floral pattern Aunt Ellie bought will be to his liking."

For almost an hour they sat there on the bed and hashed over the details. There was no guarantee that Isaac would even accept the offer, but that did not deter Stiles from already making plans for if he did. It would be an adjustment for all of them, but the more they talked about it the more excited he became.

Derek would probably need to be consulted though. Isaac respected him greatly and valued his opinion, not to mention Derek was the ultimate authority because of his position within the pack. He may not have been a legal guardian or a parent, but he was the alpha and that seemed to surpass most other authorities.

Stiles was sure he could talk him into it if he had to.

Eventually the police did show up to take his statement on the attack. He was still in the dark on what happened, so thankfully his confusion on everything was genuine enough. He picked up a few details of the cover story from them, something about an attempted mugging. He ran with it, allowing them to fill in the blanks with their own assumptions.

The doctor who had performed the emergency surgery also came to speak with him, to discuss more of his condition and physical activities he was allowed to partake in. Gym and sports were immediately vetoed because it would put stress on his body, which could lead to the staples piecing his skin together out. Lacrosse would be over soon anyway, and it was not like he ever really got to play, so it was not a major loss.

Scott arrived at some point in the afternoon, long after his father had to leave to fill out some paper work for the hospital. He dropped his schoolbag carelessly to the ground and hovered uncertainly for a long time with his hands in his pockets and his head down. He looked like someone had just told him that Allison was just a figment of his imagination.

"Stiles," he began in a whisper, approaching with a tentative smile. "Hey… how are you feeling?"

"… Confused," he admitted, eyes closing briefly without his consent. "I'm still really tired too…" He pried his eyes back open, giving him a curious look. "What happened?"

"Officially, you were out shopping for groceries with Erica and me," Scott told him quietly. "We borrowed a friend’s car so we could get everything to your house okay, and she just went along for the ride. Everything was fine until a group of thugs decided to mug you while she and I were at the video game store next door. Someone noticed the commotion and called the police to break it up."

"Okay," Stiles nodded slowly, taking it all in. "Unofficially?"

"Derek said that the hunters mistook you for one of us," Scott said with a wince. He shuffled closer slightly and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "Whoever made the call did so anonymously, so Boyd was able to play the part of our witness who called it in. We kept Derek out of it completely since he can't really afford to draw more attention to himself."

Stiles nodded vigorously. "No, he really can't."

"None of your vital organs were damaged too badly, but..." He shifted uncomfortable, fingers extending almost unconsciously to touch the nearest part of Stiles, which happened to be the back of his hand. He settled a second later. "Your doctor… you were stable after surgery, but your doctor was concerned with just how much blood you lost. It was everywhere at the crime scene and Derek… he was covered in it."

"… Gross," he shuddered. "Just… _ick_."

"You looked dead." Scott sounded as if it pained him to admit it.

"Yeah…" Stiles sighed. "Hey, speaking of Derek, was he okay?"

Scott nodded slowly. "He was fine. There were a few issues with the hunters though," he admitted. "Not sure if you remember, but the kanima was there. It attacked the hunters and paralyzed all of them. Since Erica and I were supposedly shopping, we were able to claim that we didn't see how it happened exactly…"

Stiles snorted with a wry grin. "Figures, of course no one could come up with a believable answer with our resident prevaricator out of commission," He grinned and rested his head down on the pillow comfortably. "Admit it, Scotty, you all were totally lost without me."

"… We really were," Scott nodded slowly, staring down at his hands. "I'm sorry we didn't protect you…"

Stiles rolled his eyes with reluctant fondness and scooted over. He pressed himself against the safety rails and patted the empty space beside him. "Come on, you loser," he said expectantly. His best friend immediately took up position in the bed, their shoulders pressed against each other. "What else has been going on?"

"Erica and I managed to get along long enough to get your groceries home," Scott supplied and his eyes went wide. "She scares me." he added in a terrified whimper.

Stiles honestly couldn't tell if it was said that way for dramatic effect or if it was genuine fear; he eventually decided on the latter after giving it some thought. He hid his grin, turning away. He was distracted by the vases of flowers and the gifts littering the room. He was surprised by just how many there were; at least over two dozen. He was almost positive that he only had a handful of friends the last time he checked.

"You made the papers too," Scott told him, apparently noting his interest. "You were the headline of the Student Journal, the Beacon Chronicle, and the Hills Herald, and dude, that pushy blond woman from channel six? Your father threatened to arrest her after she tried to break into your room yesterday," He snickered. "It was epic."

Stiles grinned back at him drowsily. "Go Papa Stilinski," he murmured, yawning before he could stop himself. He had only been awake for a few hours and already he felt ready to go back to sleep.

"Everyone at school keeps asking after you too," Scott wriggled his eyebrows and added, "Even Lydia," in a suggestive tone. He seemed confused though when Stiles only smiled back halfheartedly, not as pleased with the news as he would have been weeks ago.

Stiles distracted his friend from his own less than enthusiastic response by turning on the television and putting it on some daytime drama. He placed the show on mute and together, he and Scott provided their own ridiculous dialogue for it. He felt grateful and happy that Lydia cared enough to inquire about him, but he knew where her heart lied.

It was not with him and oddly enough Stiles could live with that. He was actually surprised to find just how little it hurt now. He had only acknowledged her lack of feelings for him a few weeks ago, but the initial pain had dulled considerably. He still liked her, probably always would, but more as a friend capacity now than romantically.

Hopefully Lydia was less angry with him now after his near death experience. Things had been strained between them ever since he had unintentionally deserted her in the school parking lot. He was not to blame for that incident, at least not completely, and he had been growing increasingly worried for her. She just ignored his existence completely though, even when he had been sitting with her and Allison during lunch.

Maybe this would get him back into her good graces, even if everyone else seemed to be conspiring to keep him away from her on Derek's order.

For the next two days, Stiles remained at the hospital, and it was pure torture. He was out of the danger zone now so it was just a matter of recovering his stamina. He still had to call the nurse every fifteen minutes to use the restroom and he was seriously freaked out by the fact that his urine was dark orange, but he was assured it was normal. Apparently, the dull pains he felt were normal too.

By the second day, Stiles was glad that his doctor allowed him to walk around the hallway in short laps. He had to hold onto the rolling pole that his saline drip hung from and someone had to be with him the entire time; his muscled ached horribly, but he was going crazy trapped in that room. He was never one to sit still for long and he took every chance to move around, even if just a little bit.

Scott arrived after school every day without fail. He was being oddly attentive and overly helpful, although considering his previous inattention it was a refreshing change. Stiles just attributed it to him almost dying and thought his friend was trying to overcompensate to for his less than stellar behavior recently. He was just glad to have his best friend back.

It was almost like nothing had changed between them… almost.

Stiles had a few other visitors throughout his stay. The hazards of living in a small town meant that random people he only talked to a handful of times dropped by. Some of the guys from the team came by, including Danny Mahealani and Jackson Whittemore, and though Jackson had seemed uncomfortable, his _Glad you didn't die, Stilinski_ had seemed heartfelt enough… and extremely awkward.

Boyd and Erica were the only other werewolves that visited, though with Isaac trying to prepare for his emancipation hearing, it was not at all surprising that he was absent. Derek was probably off… well, being Derek. Who knew what the grouchy werewolf got up to in his free time? At least now Stiles knew that the alpha was unhurt though, so he no longer had to stress about someone finding his severed body in a ditch somewhere.

Stiles could admit to himself though that he was a bit more aware of Derek being absent than he was Isaac. He had apparently grown accustomed to seeing the brooding werewolf every day, so it was just a bit strange not to find him lurking behind a corner somewhere. He certainly wasn't missing his company though. Not one bit. No sir, he did not miss the sour wolf at all.

... Maybe just a little.

The two teenagers seemed to be taking turns patrolling the corridors, but they did come into his room to… not quite visit, but close enough. Erica would stand with her back against a wall with a pair of headphones inserted in her ears, idly filing her claws into sharper points with a worn emery board. She still had a superior air around her, the same bitchy exterior firmly in place, but there was something less severe about her than before.

Boyd only took up quiet residence in the chair beside the bed, stealing the remote control as he propped his feet up wordlessly. He spoke once or twice, though seemed content enough to just let Stiles chatter on about nothing for a while. It was like talking to a brick wall, and strangely, that description was accurate for the solid mass of muscle slouched in the seat.

On the day that Stiles was set to be released from the hospital, he finally got to see the wounds for himself. His bandages were removed and he was finally allowed to get out of the hospital gown. He stood in front of the mirror for at least five minutes just to inspect the damage. His skin was irritated, a violent shade of maroon where it had begun to heal.

Stiles grimaced when he fingered the row of staples piecing the severed skin together along one forearm. It looked twisted and gruesome, despite it being a smooth cut. The one on his abdomen was worse. He knew some people found scars attractive; in books or in some movies, it only enhanced rugged features and made that person all the more appealing. He knew that these were going to be some nasty scars though and some rather unattractive ones at that.

Trying to remain upbeat, Stiles figured no one would ever want to see him shirtless any time soon anyway, so it was not that big of a deal. He changed slowly on his own, his father standing right outside the door should he need help. He slid the sweats up his hips and forewent the shirt when trying to lift his arms proved painful; instead, he only pulled on the red zip up hoodie.

Stiles exited the adjourning bathroom carefully, allowing his father to catch him by the elbow and escort him back to the bed. He sat down on it easily. "Am I still a prisoner or can we leave now?" he asked hopefully.

"Almost free," the man promised him, patting his shoulder gently. "Let me just go sign your release papers, okay? Scott, you got all of this?"

Scott was currently bustling around the room in order to gather up all of the get well cards and gifts that took up the free space in the room. "Yes sir," he grinned cheekily, easily holding three vases at once without wavering. "I call dibs on all of the candy!"

"Dude, hands off my stash," Stiles grumbled. "Quit showing off already too. You look like a trained monkey trying to juggle three vases."

Scott frowned. "I'd probably drop them if I tried," he said uncertainly. "Hey! Look, someone brought you a stuffed wolf," He brandished the toy with a gleeful smile. "Cute."

"Who is it from?" he asked, taking the stuffed animal curiously. He felt his lips twitch involuntarily, smiling as he studied the toy. It was a simple jet black wolf, snout poised in the hair as if howling at the moon, sitting back regally on its haunches. He would never be too old to play with toys, especially not cute little stuffed wolves.

"Smells like Erica," Scott said after a cursory sniff. "No, Boyd… Isaac?" He shrugged uncaringly. "Maybe it was a gift from the rest of the pack…?"

Stiles nodded slowly. "Maybe."

Scott continued to move around the room until he finished gathering everything. He double checked once and then decided to go place it all in the car. "Be back in five minutes," he said, carrying the large box out the door.

Stiles just waited impatiently to be released. He was ready to leave this place behind and enjoy the comfort of his own home. He idly played with his new toy as he sat there, surprised at how soft the faux fur felt beneath his fingertips. He suddenly had an inspired idea as he realized that the eyes of the wolf were a vibrant blue color.

"You remind me of Derek," he said merrily. He barely needed to squint his eyes for it to look like the toy was glaring at him. He snorted to himself, shaking his head. "You definitely remind me of Derek. Your name is going to be Hale."

The wolf only continued to glare at him.

"Oh come on, don't be such a sour wolf."

"It does look like a Hale," a voice agreed behind him, startling him out of his fun. It was a familiar voice, one that caused him to stiffen the moment he placed it. He had not heard it since the night of the winter formal.

Stiles stood slowly from the bed and clutched the toy in his fingers. He closed his eyes to steel himself and slowly turned around to face the doorway, eyeing the man standing in the threshold warily. He licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry.

Chris Argent was in his hospital room. His bright blue eyes were calculating as he assessed his condition, obviously noting the uneasy and tender way Stiles held himself. His brows furrowed slightly when he was done and he moved forward slowly. He kept his hands up in universal surrender, his own posture remaining unthreatening.

"What do you want?" Stiles asked, wanting to sound demanding, but he was unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. He had a right to be uneasy around the man considering how his last encounter with hunters went. He took a quick step back, searching for anything he might be able to use to defend himself with.

Unfortunately there was nothing suitable in sight.

Mr. Argent stopped at the opposite side of the bed, lowering his hands to his side. "Just came to see how you were doing," he placated calmly, his frown deepening when the teenager released a strangled laugh.

"Me? Oh, nothing to worry about," Stiles said acerbically, wishing his voice were stronger than it sounded to his own ears. "You know, except for the fact that some dumbass punk decided to run me through like a _human_ —" He emphasized. "—barbeque skewer just waiting to be _cut in half_."

"They never should have acted so recklessly," Mr. Argent said, his voice laden with a heavy disappointment. He sounded angry and frustrated, his hands curling into fists before he caught himself. "I know it won't make up for what those boys did to you," he continued heavily, his tone fading into something regretful. "But I apologize for what happened."

Stiles could only stare at him for one long moment, studying the man with dissecting eyes for any hint of deceit. He found none, but to be fair, he was not the best judge. He thought that Mr. Argent sounded sincere though, as if he truly did mean his words.

" _Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent_ ," he said quietly, knowing he had Mr. Argent's full attention by saying those words. He was uncertain what the entirety of the elusive code entailed, but that had been carefully written on a page of its own in the family heirloom Allison lent him.

"… We hunt those who hunt us," the man repeated, nodding his head. "They never should have gone near you, not without confirming you were a wolf and not without confirmation that human blood had been spilled by your hand. It is unforgivable."

Stiles frowned slightly. "… You still follow the code?"

Mr. Argent was silent for a long moment. "Yes," he conceded quietly. "My mother raised me to follow the code as if it were law. There is no honor in killing innocent people, man or wolf, and I intend to follow the code even if those around me have decided not to."

"Scott said you held a gun to his head," Stiles said bluntly. "He has never spilled human blood before. Not mine. Not Allison’s… not anyone’s really. And yet you were ready to put a bullet in his head for simply being in love with your daughter."

"I see he told you about that. Not my finest moment…" Mr. Argent smiled tightly, inclining his head. "He has only been making things difficult though. Did he tell you about how he came over for dinner at my house too? I wanted to strangle him then, but I didn't."

Stiles nodded slowly. "He said something to that effect, but you will have to forgive me if I call bullshit." He took a certain amount of satisfaction when the man stared at him, taken aback by the brusque statement. "You talk about honor like you have any."

Mr. Argent said nothing in response, his face emotionless. His eyes though… they were angry and unsettled. Stiles knew he was just asking to be hospitalized again before he was even released at this rate, but he needed to say this. He needed to.

Out of all the hunters he had encountered, Chris Argent had always struck him as a man with some morals. It probably stemmed from the fact that the man had confronted his own sister with a gun once he learned the truth behind the Hale house fire. The fact that he came here alone and unthreatening to apologize for something he didn't do only enforced the idea that he might just be a good man stuck in a bad situation.

Stiles only hoped he was correct in his assumption.

"Do you even know what honor is?" he asked. "It is just a meaningless word until people give it value. It is something that has to be earned, just like respect. Honor is standing up for what you believe in." He frowned at him. "It is a sixteen year old boy having the courage to love a girl despite the fact that her whole family wants him dead just for being different."

Mr. Argent looked away, but Stiles kept going.

"It is being utterly helpless in the face of something terrible and _trying_ even if you have no hope of succeeding." His frown lessened and his throat constricted. "… It is having everyone you ever loved decimated in one single act of horrific violence and to wake up every day _not_ responding in kind to the people responsible."

Stiles took in a deep breath, closing his eyes tightly. He clenched the toy wolf to his chest as if that might alleviate some of the ache he felt there. His cheeks were surprisingly dry after his rant, though he certainly felt like an emotional wreck. He bitterly at the silent man before him, wondering if anything he said had any effect.

"People say that actions speak louder than words," he concluded quietly, the fight suddenly leaving him. He just felt exhausted and distraught now. "… Where does that leave you, Mr. Argent…? Where does it leave you?"

Stiles waited. He was waiting for either a gun pointed at his head or an honest answer, because he truly did want to know where exactly the man stood now that battle lines were being drawn. Instead Chris Argent only stood there. His face had become completely unreadable, his eyes dark and chaotic.

"Inaction can be just as just as loud," he added softly. "You say you follow a code, but so far, I haven't seen anything to prove it…"

Mr. Argent expelled a long breath and rubbed a hand down his suddenly weary face. He shook his head and raised his eyebrows. "You are a good kid," he said quietly. "I can see why my daughter values your friendship." He looked down at the vacant hospital bed, a thoughtful frown on his face.

"Allison is a smart girl," he said. "Maybe you should actually trust her and let her make her own decisions about her life."

"… Neither of them are particularly subtle, are they?" the man asked with a sardonic grin. There was no bite to his words, no anger. Instead, there was just a grim acceptance. He ran a hand through his blond hair. "You have done a decent job covering for them though."

Stiles shrugged. "Someone had to."

"Allison was never meant to join the family business," he admitted. "My wife and I both decided after she was born that she would never become like us. Like _him._ "

"Gerard?"

"My father is poison," Mr. Argent said with dark eyes. "He slowly infects the mind, manipulating people to his own ends. I saw it happen with my sister… Kate used to be the nicest girl in the world." His eyes tightened in pain. "She used to be like Allison. She would be the girl crying whenever we passed a dead animal on the street, even."

Stiles could not reconcile any resemblance between the two. Allison was the sweetest person he knew. She was kind and compassionate, always smiling and full of joy. He knew very little of Kate, and most of which he knew was second hand information, but what he did know was that she was cruel and seductive and full of nothing but hate.

"Kate ultimately changed because of my father though," the man continued solemnly. "She slowly became harder and vicious until she was almost unrecognizable to me. I will always love my sister, even now, knowing what she did because I can still remember who she used to be. She knew what she was doing though. She knew it was wrong, but she did it anyway. I understand why you hate her."

"No one is asking you not to love your sister," Stiles told him. "You can love the sinner and yet…"

"Scorn the sin." Mr. Argent nodded, appreciation flashing across his features for his understanding. "I never wanted that man around my daughter. He took Kate and turned her into a huntress so easily, he knew exactly which buttons to push…"

"Does your father see Allison as a replacement?"

"… Tell Scott to stop coming through the window," the man said wryly instead of answering, but his stiff posture was answer enough. "My wife threatened to plant wolfsbane alongside the begonias if they get trampled on again. No more secret rendezvous at our house when we are not home either. They meet somewhere populated or not at all."

Stiles smiled slowly, not sure when they had reached a tentative truce. He would take whatever he could get though. "I'll tell him," he agreed.

Mr. Argent nodded firmly. "Make sure you remind him that my daughter is to remain a virgin until her wedding day and if I find out that he has done anything to compromise that, I will kill him… and not as a hunter either." His words were serious and to be believed. "It will be as a very angry father."

"Yes, sir," Stiles said, though that warning was probably a bit too late.

Mr. Argent nodded sharply. "Take care of yourself." he told him, though it sounded much more like an order. "Next time something like that happens, you either call me or the police for help. Never put yourself in the middle of it."

"… I will do anything necessary to protect the people I care about," Stiles told him, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. "I would do it again." He shrugged. "Probably will do it again too."

Mr. Argent regarded him with a curious frown, but eventually nodded. "Hale should be aware that there are twelve hunters currently in town, excluding the six in custody for your assault. Four of them I consider friends and they strictly adhere to the code. Everyone else seems to be following my father and abandoning it completely. Seven of them have children, all which are soon to be enrolled in school. Three are training with their parents that I know of."

Stiles committed it all to memory and nodded seriously. "You should probably be aware that I intend to call the police about trespassers on the Hale property then," he told him, grinning when the man gave him a confused look. "Hey, I may not be a trained hunter or a powerful werewolf, but I pretty much figured out that you all get up to some shady shit that is considered illegal in the eyes of the law."

"Don't curse," Mr. Argent said sternly. "… Thank you for the warning."

"Thank you for the apology."

Stiles was grateful when the man finally left. He stumbled backwards and collapsed into the seat beside his former bed, a hand pressing to the painful throb from his stomach. He sighed heavily, not even looking up when he sensed someone else enter the room. He knew who it was without even having to look up.

"Eavesdropper," he accused, casting his best friend a baleful glare. "Were you listening the whole time?"

Scott gave him a sheepish smile. "Since you spoke French," he admitted. "Your speech about honor was very moving."

"You are a terrible best friend." Stiles glared at him, he reached forward and grabbed the pillow off the bed, flinging it at him. He glared harder when his friend dodged with ease. "You suck, man! You are like the epitome of sucking and you can seriously forget about me sharing my candy stash with you now and… and you're not even listening to me, are you?"

Scott was staring with a vacant, slightly dazed look. "Stiles?"

Stiles sighed and rolled his eyes. "… Yes, Scott?"

"Did Mr. Argent just give me permission to secretly date his daughter?"

Stiles replayed the conversation in his head. "… Yeah, I think he did."


	12. Foolhardy Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a mistake, such a grave, foolhardy mistake.

### Foolhardy Mistake

Chris Argent really should have known better. He grew up with acute knowledge of their habits and their customs; he knew how to avoid insulting wolves or upsetting them. He was a lethal man, exuding a confident and capable grace as he moved, much like an animal himself. He had clearly spent time among different packs, probably to learn and to negotiate… to kill.

The man obviously knew how to recognize the signs of being hunted himself too. He had no sooner taken three steps into the quiet, ominous parking garage before he came to an abrupt halt. "Allison," he uttered quickly, his voice sharp and commanding.

Beside him, the young woman froze at his severe tone and turned to look at him questioningly. He raised his hands slowly just as the growls began to echo throughout the acoustic space, making the angry snarls sound even more menacing. His palms were open and empty to show he had no weapons in hand.

Argent stared out amongst the cars, eventually meeting several pairs of glowing eyes in the dim lighting above. "Do not interfere." he said evenly.

Allison frowned worriedly and curled her arms around herself, her dark eyes darting around. Her body trembled as another growl joined the rest, louder and deeper than the others, her nervousness and fear perfuming the air. She had nothing to fear though; her emotions could never overpower the scent of pack. She was safe.

Chris Argent was not.

Slowly the hunter began moving in measured movements, withdrawing a gun and dropping it onto the concrete. He methodically divested himself of his weapons, one by one, leaving each in a pile just to the left of him. He stepped away the moment the last knife was abandoned, leaving himself completely defenseless.

Containing the fury that surged through his veins was extraordinarily difficult, but Derek managed not to give in to the strong compulsion to gut the hunter. He scented the air carefully, growling his displeasure when he recognized the sterile antiseptics associated with hospitals converging with an underlying tang that was entirely too familiar. The others all echoed the sentiment furiously, drawing away from the shadows to come stand at his side.

"Dad…" Allison whispered, giving the knives and guns a glance.

Derek recognized her intentions and growled deeply in reprimand. She gave him a wide eyed stare, clearly startled by the sudden attention. Her father repeated his last order, commanding her not to interfere. His voice was firm and demanded to be obeyed; the young woman shifted uncomfortably, but remained where she was.

Argent was surprisingly calm given the situation. "Hello," he greeted evenly, grunting when he was suddenly thrown against the hard wall. His heart rate did elevate when the strong forearm was pressing hard against his throat, making it difficult to breathe, betraying his own wariness at the position.

"What are you doing here?" Derek demanded angrily, his voice amplified almost tenfold reminiscent to the way it had been when he first inherited his alpha status. His whole body vibrated with tension; his instincts were going haywire at the thought of the hunter being so close after the near death in his pack.

"Allison… wanted to see… her friend."

Derek pressed his arm harder against the vulnerable neck, a vindictive streak of satisfaction rippling through him when the man choked slightly. He could hear the truth in the words, but it did little to appease his rage. He knew that was only part of the reason. This was done _deliberately;_ he knew it had to be deliberate because it was far too soon.

It had only been two days since Stiles had awakened. He was still weak and injured, completely vulnerable to attack. Just the fact that the boy was in a public place, surrounded by strangers and unknowns, had the whole pack bristling and eager to go for the throats of anyone who so much as looked at him sideways.

Stiles was never left alone; someone was always within reach in case something happened. None of them had vacated the premises for more than a few hours at a time, even then just to clean up and rest a bit before they returned to their previous vigil of guarding him from harm.

Argent must have known the insult he presented just by coming within twenty yards of this place. He was a hunter, a dangerous threat to the safety of the pack regardless the previous truce between them all after everything with Peter. He knew how angry they would all be by coming here yet he came anyway.

This was no coincidence; it was intentional.

Derek bared his teeth in frustration as he came to the realization. He could sense no other presences beyond the six of them. He calmed only slightly at that. Argent was very wise to bring his daughter as a buffer for this confrontation; he would have been slain on sight without her presence to keep them all grounded.

"You do not go near my pack without permission." He ground out viciously, reluctantly easing away. He allowed the man to drop to the ground, watching without remorse as he coughed hoarsely and gingerly touched his throat. "Especially not when injured."

Argent made no move to get up, regarding him carefully once he caught his breath. "I was unaware that you considered the human boy part of your pack." There was an irregularity within his heartbeat that belied his words. He had known and he knew exactly what he was doing. He made no excuse, despite being so obviously caught in the lie.

"You have my attention."

"… I said my peace," Argent told him, finally maneuvering back onto his feet. "I meant every word I said to that boy. I have no loyalty to my father," He glanced at his daughter when she gave him a startled frown. He smiled wanly at her. "While Allison was visiting, I informed my own men to steer clear of your house for when the police arrive too. They agreed to leave behind some evidence to rightly incriminate the others of the crimes they committed against innocent people… and wolves."

Derek met his eyes evenly, choosing not to respond or react despite the intense confusion he felt. He was not about to let the hunter know that they had overheard nothing. They had merely received the text from Scott and only just arrived moments ago. He would get a full report from the wolf later.

"No one will touch the children again," the hunter promised firmly. Had it come from anyone else, perhaps the words would have been hollow, but Derek had a grudging respect for the way Chris Argent operated. "You have my word."

"… Even Scott?" he asked measuredly.

Allison twitched slightly at that, her own eyes swiveling to her father in anticipation for the answer. She had a somewhat knowing look on her face, as if she already knew the answer, but she clearly wanted to hear it anyway. He felt some of the tension drain from the girl when Argent inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Even Scott,"

"Next time you want to speak with me," Derek told him coldly, taking a threatening step forward as he stared directly into his eyes to ensure there was no miscommunication. "You will ask your daughter to deliver the message. You will not go near the others, and you will definitely never approach Stiles without our permission."

Argent smiled devoid of humor, clearly understanding just how badly his actions could have been perceived. "Understood, Alpha Hale." he agreed softly.

Derek nodded sharply. "We're done here." He gave the young girl a slight nod before he backed away without another word, the others taking their cues from him and following as he retreated from the parking garage. He broke into a run the moment they were outside; he needed to place as much distance between him and the hunter as possible.

Father of Allison or not, the hunter would be eviscerated if he was forced to remain in his presence for much longer. He ran and ran and ran; beads of perspiration gathered at his temples as he darted through the forest. He tried to physically exert himself, forcing down the instinctual urge to heal the small aches and pains that blossomed.

It was difficult to suppress the ability, though not impossible. He focused on the pain, never once stopping his run until he was deep within the forest.

All it took was one vicious swipe of claws to fell the majestic golden aspen, white planks of bark and barren branches raining down around them with splinters. His emotions were a deadly torrent of impotent rage and helpless frustration. Another joined it in a shower of debris, soon followed by another, and within moments more joined the fallen.

Days of suppressing everything had finally broken free in one cataclysmic wave of fury; he moved mindlessly, barely aware of anything around him. Everything had built up and festered and he needed an outlet _now_. He felt as if he was losing. He was losing every battle, he was losing his pack, he was losing his own mind… he had already lost _everything_ and now could have lost even more with a small twist of a knife.

How could there be more to lose?

Derek was trying so hard to stay strong. He was not a weak omega cowering in the corner of a burnt shell and living with nothing but guilt and bad memories; he was an alpha. He was the one who was supposed to offer support and strength when the pack was vulnerable. He needed to be the one they depended on. His own frame of mind could and would affect them all; particularly strong emotions would disturb their own feelings until they felt exactly what he did.

They were all feeling it right now; he knew they were. He could feel their despair, the agony and unbearable urge to find him. He was miles away from where they were, both mentally and physically, but still they searched for him. He could barely hear the one thing in this whole world that somehow managed to keep him anchored slowly fading with each step he took.

Distancing himself from the situation had taken a great deal more effort than Derek expected it would. His failsafe mechanism had nearly died and it was time to end it before he began to rely on the boy too much. He tried to stay away, to avoid entering the hospital in order to detach himself. He had not lasted for more than a few hours, slipping into the darkened hospital room once everyone else had gone away.

Derek had known intellectually that Stiles would one day leave Beacon Hills and his presence would no longer offer the same comfort. He thought he could get over it with relative ease, just simply find a new way of coping with the strain of power that seemed to control him more than he could control it. He never realized just how deeply invested he had become until he had nearly lost his anchor though, because it was too late now.

Nothing could change what he had unintentionally done.

It was a mistake, such a grave, foolhardy mistake. To form a deep attachment with someone like this was not completely unheard of, though it was extremely rare to do so with a human. Perhaps if he had recognized the signs that first night, this could have been averted. He should have known, considering what was going on with Scott. He could have given Stiles a proper choice. He _would_ give Stiles a choice even if everything in him screamed against it.

Derek was bound now by his actions; he could fully comprehend the severity of what he had done. His head had been underwater when he had begun to rely on a teenage boy for the sake of his own sanity, but now he was fully submerged. He was drowning and the only thing keeping him alive was currently being discharged from a hospital. He threw a tree in his rage, spinning in place as he tore at another one.

A soft whimper penetrated the haze, a quiet whine following it. He slowly came back into himself, concentrating, listening… the sound was so indistinct now, teetering on the edge of his consciousness like a faint memory. He stumbled away from the fresh, jagged stumps at his feet until the sound became stronger. He sucked in a desperate breath, greedily filling his lungs with the clean and fresh scents of the last days of winter.

No longer able to subdue the natural abilities as he dropped to his knees, Derek sighed heavily as the burning fire in his muscles began to fade with each passing moment. His eyes remained closed though he was not certain when they had first fallen shut. His knuckled were painted white from the pressure of his fists; he could smell more than feel the blood from where his claws had unintentionally slashed through his palms.

Isaac was the first to touch him, cautiously reaching out to brush against his back. He curled around him there, burying his wet face against the back of his neck. Erica then tucked herself beneath his arm. She reached out and took one balled up hand between her own, carefully extracting each claw before flattening the digits out and intertwining her fingers with his as his palms healed. Boyd did the same with the other hand as he pressed himself against his other side too, silently offering his own support.

They all surrounded him, each one offering a part of them to keep him grounded, each nestling against whatever part of him they could reach with quiet whines escaping from their throats. He was unexpectedly comforted by their presence. This was probably the first time that all three of them had come together so seamlessly in a single mindset. This was the first time they had acted as a pack. He wished he could voice the pride he felt for them in that moment, but he was just too numb to force the words out.

“It’s okay,” Boyd rumbled quietly, squeezing his shoulder.

Isaac repeated the sentiment, adding, “Everything will get better.”

“We love you.” Erica promised with a strong voice.

Derek was unable to keep from tensing at her words. His initial reaction was disbelief and perhaps a hint of anger, though one look at her tearstained face abolished that notion. Likewise Isaac snuffled and rubbed at his eyes when he sought him out and Boyd revealed nothing, although his swift heartbeat and the frown on his face betrayed him. In this they were all in accord, although it was not exactly the truth. He had not heard an outright lie either, but it was still significant, something promising.

High above the heavens opened up and began to unleash a light torrent of rain, the soft patter picking up pace within moments until they were all soaked through to the bone. His own face was wet too, from tears of his own or just the rain, but he refused to determine which. He had been alone for so long, he had almost forgotten what it felt like not to be. He had chosen these three because they were like him—lonely, afraid, and a maybe bit broken. He might not have had good reasoning then, but in hindsight there was no one else he would rather have at his side right now.

Derek inhaled deeply, a tranquil feeling resonating within his chest. He nodded once and they all rose as one unit. They rose as a pack. He led the way back to the town once he finally determined where they were. He had apparently stopped his rampage a few miles shy of the city limits, just on the edge of his own property and essentially the end of their territory. He had torn a path in almost a straight line of destruction all the way through the forest, the trail lined with collapsed trees, displaced piles of soil, and other debris.

The rest of the day continued on very nearly peacefully. He was not calm by any means, would probably not calm down until he replaced Scott for the night, but he was less agitated. It was not much, but it was a start. He did take a moment to contact the absent wolf once they reached the warehouse to get a better understanding of what had transpired at the hospital.

Stiles had apparently browbeaten Argent into a truce. It would have been comical if not for the fact that Derek still resented the audacity the hunter had to approach in the first place. He would not be forgiving that error in judgment any time soon, regardless of whatever silent agreement they now had.

The rain eventually began to wane as the hours ticked by, the sheer expanse of midnight hues overhead slowly drifting apart to reveal the velvety sky and the moon providing a strong beacon of light. It had been overcast for days now, oddly reflective of the solemn mood that seemed to encompass everyone with one of their own incapacitated.

Derek moved slowly throughout the warehouse in a fresh set of dry clothes. He glanced back at the others where he left them, his lips twitching involuntarily at the sight they all made. He kept his amusement to himself as not to disturb their peaceful sleep, but it was the first time in days… in _weeks_ where they were all at ease.

Boyd was sprawled out on the heap of tarps and pallets which had been covered with several threadbare blankets to create a makeshift bed on the floor. His massive body apparently made him the perfect replacement for a pillow, because the other two were curled around him, their heads resting comfortably on his chest.

Everyone was still and quiet, contented in their sleep. Everything seemed to be clearing up now and only time would tell if that was a good thing or not. He could only pray in favor of the former.

Closing the heavy doors quietly, Derek stepped away from the decrepit building and began walking. He forwent his car entirely, opting instead to take in the fresh air from the rain to keep his head clear. He concentrated on his making his footfalls as quiet as possible by way of distraction. He could not afford another outburst like today.

Issues needed to be dealt with before they had time to manifest violently again. He knew that meant being more honest and no longer omitting details to the pack even if he thought it would keep them safe. He could no longer close himself off; it was detrimental to all of them.

It was unacceptable behavior.

Derek also could no longer wait idly by. He needed to take the initiative because this issue with the kanima and the conflict with the hunters would not resolve itself in time like he hoped. He had been counting on dealing with the aftermath once the two opposing forces collided and subsequently weakened one another, but if he was be grudgingly accepting a truce with Argent then that was no longer an option.

Tomorrow he would begin making the necessary arrangements. He would never be able to keep his pack together when they were all spread out so thin. He understood the necessity of keeping up appearances; they had their own lives outside of the pack, their own families. But on nights like tonight, when they all need to be near each other, they needed more protection than a few blankets and pallets on the floor of an abandoned warehouse.

Contracting _Dire & Wolfe Construction _would be the easiest step in ensuring his pack had a safe environment. The company was owned by werewolves; therefore they would know how to take certain precautious with the construction. He would need to draw up a list of requirements for the new house before he called and schedule a meeting with an architect to go over blueprint designs.

Derek also needed to attempt to contact other packs outside of Beacon Hills. He had thought about it briefly in the past, but now that he knew for certain that Gerard Argent was calling hunters to arms, he thought perhaps it would be best to seek out some reinforcements himself, despite his reluctance to involve anyone else in his mess.

There were a few specific names off the top of his head that Derek probably needed to call first. Logan Montgomery for instance; his pack was relatively small, only consisting of five wolves in total. Derek had not spoken to the other alpha since delivering the initial devastating news that Laura had been murdered by a wolf and then cut in half by hunters.

Approaching the quiet neighborhood, Derek slowed down from the swift pace he had unknowingly fallen into and stared up at the house when it came into view. He noted the squad car in the driveway silently; he hoped Sheriff Stilinski had been too preoccupied to notice the subtle changes to his front door.

Scott had found a close replica of the one that had been demolished. He and Boyd had installed it while the sheriff was still off living in the hospital the first few days after the attack. It was similar, though there was some notable difference in the design the man was sure to notice if he cared to look closely enough.

Propped up against the front porch was an abandoned bicycle that obviously belonged to Scott. The young wolf had managed to evade a lengthily discussion about his recent behavior by seemingly coming to the conclusion that he had been behaving like a terrible friend on his own. Apparently carrying his dying best friend into the emergency room had caused a revelation.

It was a hard lesson to learn, but Scott had needed to learn it. He needed to know that the world did not revolve around him and Allison and their relationship, whether he intended to court the girl as a potential mate or not. The reality of the situation, of humans being associated as or with pack, was much more severe than he thought it was.

There was no doubt that Scott would be far more attentive to everything from now on.

Derek could smell the other wolf from the street. The scent of him was almost overwhelming and he shook his head wryly in a mixture of disgust and amusement. He idly wondered if Scott had any idea that he had practically scent marked the entire house; he doubted it. That would be something to work on in training then. He moved to the side of the house and glanced up at the open window where the smell was strongest.

Scaling the wall and slipping inside with ease, Derek rolled his eyes when he spotted the younger wolf asleep. Scott was slumped down in the office chair, which had been pulled beside the bed. His body was completely slouched forward, arms dangling toward the floor and his chin tucked into his chest, though his back was the only thing visible from this angle.

"Idiot," He shook his head, moving to stand behind the other wolf with his arms crossed over his chest imposingly. He cleared his throat pointedly, nudging the chair roughly with his foot when there was no immediate response.

Scott flailed out of his slumber, eyes popping open wide with fright. "Dude," he breathed out, clutching a hand to his chest. "Not cool."

"You are supposed to be keeping watch," Derek growled evenly, keeping his voice low as he glared his disapproval. "How would you fend off the kanima if it were to attack while you are sleep? You would either be dead or immobilized in seconds."

Scott winced. "S'not like I fell asleep on purpose," he muttered sullenly, rubbing at his eyes much the same way a tired child would when kept up too late.

Derek tried to hold on to his critical disposition, but he felt himself soften grudgingly at the sight. "Go lay down in the other room," he ordered in exasperation.

"Kay," Scott yawned, his jaws snapping together with a slight whine that was none too human. He paused at the door, turning around with his eyebrows furrowed. "Derek? Earlier… when we were leaving the hospital… it felt like… _something_." He shuddered slightly, biting down on his lip. "Like something _bad_ was happening. Are you… is everyone okay?"

To be perfectly honest Derek was surprised that Scott had even felt it. He was not a member of the pack in the traditional sense, although they did share a slight connection. Scott must trust him a great deal more than he thought he did for him to have felt the unstoppable inundation of emotions.

"Everyone is fine," he assured him quietly. "It is over now."

Scott looked confused, though nodded his acceptance at the vague answer. He slipped out of the room and into the one down the hall. That particular room was soon to belong to Isaac according to a conversation they had yesterday; apparently the Stilinski household gained a member. It was a good outcome, one that he could honestly say he was pleased with.

Isaac would benefit from being around people like the sheriff and Stiles, good people who would love and cherish him; Derek had no doubt that the Stilinski family had love to spare for him. But the fact that Isaac would no longer be living with him only strengthened his resolve to build the new house.

Living conditions at the warehouse were bearable with at least Isaac for the most, but if Derek was forced to live in the warehouse by himself, he knew he would only become restless. He would definitely need the house finished as soon as possible.

Shallow breaths escaped the teenager from where he was spread out on the bed. He was on his back, one arm lazily resting on his stomach while the other was clutching something dark to his side beneath the thin white sheet that had been mostly kicked down to his knees. His skin was still too pale, ashen enough that every miniscule freckle and mole stood out in contrast with a startling clarity.

Derek inched closer silently, moving to stand beside the bed. He glanced at the orange bottle on the bedside table, giving the label a curious look; _oxycodone_. He was not familiar with the name, unsure what it was exactly, but he guessed it was for the pain. He really did not like the sharpness it added his scent; it made his sensitive nose twitch.

Easing himself down onto the bed, careful not to disturb Stiles as he did so, Derek reached out with one hand. He grasped the hem of the blue shirt and tugged it up slightly, revealing the white bandage in place on his abdomen. The tape had already been tampered with, frays slightly and giving way to his gentle pulling.

Derek grimaced at the sight of the crude metal pieces embedded in the skin. He had been blessed with accelerated healing for his entire life. He had been cut with longer and sharper knifes before, although his skin had always simply knitted itself back together within moments of being hurt unless he wished otherwise.

Stiles was human though. He healed too slowly, so slow that his skin had to be held together with _staples_ until the flesh became whole again. It looked painful and unnatural. He ran a careful finger over the metal pieces and almost shivered at the feel of them. He wanted nothing more than to pluck them all out and heal the injuries himself, but he knew that the doctors would probably need to see Stiles again to make sure he was healing properly.

The scarring would probably be extensive too, especially since the wounds were all so large. The one on his arm was thin but long and the one through his abdomen was wide. Derek would be able to make the scars less noticeable once the staples were removed if Stiles was receptive to the idea; he would be able to speed up the healing process once there was nothing obstructing him.

Derek nodded to himself at the idea; he was sure that he could convince the boy to let him do it if only for his own piece of mind. He was just about to pull the fabric of the shirt back down when his eyes strayed momentarily. His lips thinned into a line at the evident slope of the stomach, following the low dip at the navel with increasing discontentment.

Not for the first time he felt a flash of concern. Flattening the palm of his hand against the warm abdomen, he was able to feel every muscle beneath the tight skin. He knew then that his previous attempts to feed Stiles had done little to help him considering he had just gone days without proper nourishment.

All too clearly it showed in the sharpness of his cheeks and in the way his hips jutted out sharply. He had always been a lean and healthy young man, but now he was just thin. Derek would have to increase his efforts then, perhaps for more than just the obvious reasons.

Stiles began to shift suddenly in his sleep. His fingers brushed along Derek, moving over his arm before curling slightly over his wrist. He sighed quietly and settled back against his pillow a moment later, seeming contented with the new position. He was still in a deep slumber, his eyelashes fluttering slightly against his cheeks as his eyes moved beneath the lids.

Derek shook his head in amusement, preparing to shake the hand off and pull the sheets back up from where they were bunched up, only to freeze when he caught a glimpse of the dark object hidden beneath the thin sheet of cloth. His heart ached at the sight familiar stuffed animal.

Throat constricting as painfully as it had the moment he had seen Erica holding it days ago, Derek could only swallow the sudden thickness in his throat. She had found it amongst his sparse possessions within the trunk of his car when she and Scott had dropped off the groceries the other day.

Derek had not objected to her proposal of giving it to Stiles as a get well gift. He had no idea at the time what exactly motivated him to allow it, especially considering just what the toy meant to him, but he had not said a word against it.

The little wolf had long since lost all traces of the scent of its previous owner over the past six years. It smelled of the pack for the most part, more strongly of Stiles now than anyone else. It had once belonged to Emily Hale, the second to the youngest of his siblings. He had given it to her as a birthday gift only months before she died.

Derek could remember the long nights following the fire when he and Laura had spent curled up in the same bed of a nameless hotel just breathing in the lingering smells of their family from the items they had managed to salvage from the wreckage.

It was all just bits and pieces, such as toys and clothes, perfumes and aftershaves; it was all just something to make it feel like they were still there.

Parting with the little wolf had never been his intention. He supposed at the time he had been momentarily stunned to see Erica with it that he had been unable to form words, but he had an inkling now of just why he had said nothing against her intention to give away one of his most prized possessions.

It may have been just a childish toy, but to him it meant _everything._

Seeing it now clutched so closely and carefully against the young man felt right. He knew that even though Stiles knew nothing of the true value behind the wolf, he had clearly taken a liking to the toy. He would keep it safe. Emily would have wanted it to go to someone Derek cared about anyway. She probably would have even scolded him for keeping it locked up for so long, untouchable to anyone else.

Extracting himself from the gentle hold elicited a small frown from the teen, although Derek managed to pull away after a few moments. He smiled slightly and grazed the puckered flesh of his forehead until it smoothed out, using his other hand to capture the one that had been holding him captive.

Derek was suddenly struck by a strong compulsion that he made no effort to fight. He carefully brought the uninjured arm up to his view, running his nose along the inner forearm as the need became almost unbearable. He could feel the moment when his face began to shift, his teeth elongating of their own accord.

There would be no going back after this, although to be honest, there had been no going back from the moment Stiles had grasped him and tugged his deadweight to the surface of that pool. He would still ensure Stiles got a choice in all of this. He would look the other way or stand aside if that was what the boy wished, but for the werewolf there was really only one thing he could do at this point.

Derek grazed his fangs along the vulnerable flesh of his wrist, biting down gently with just enough force to bring blood to the surface without breaking the skin. He would need consent for this to work, but this would suffice for now. Until he was ready to ask... He closed his eyes for a moment, growling in satisfaction deep within as he licked the mark in apology. He shifted back, teeth growing blunt and human, pulling away from the delicate wrist with reluctance.

The claim had been made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. I have created a tumblr account just in case I ever go on a hiatus again. It lists my reasons in the first few posts as to the late update if anyone is interested :) Also, to clear up any confusion, Derek did not turn Stiles just now; think back to chapters five and six :D
> 
> http://writinginthecandlelight.tumblr.com/


	13. Positively Wrecked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes were half lidded, pupils completely blown wide with shock and… arousal. He pressed a cool hand to his flaming cheeks. He looked positively wrecked.

### Positively Wrecked

Haunted images tore Stiles from his uneasy slumber, his eyes flying open with a startled gasp. He needed a minute to realize where he was, his tense muscles only relaxing when he recognized the familiar scene out of the darkened window in front of him. He was lying on his side, looking out where the dim streetlights could be seen.

Expelling a breath and pressing his cheek into the pillow, Stiles tried to recall what the nightmare had been about. He had gone for nights without having one, but all good things must come to an end. He eventually gave up trying to remember; he was probably better off not knowing anyway.

A warm hand suddenly settled on his shoulder. It startled him briefly; however the soft shushing noise was gentle and reassuring. He unintentionally relaxed into the touch, reminding himself that everyone had him under constant surveillance now. He sighed when the hand began rubbing along his back in wide, soothing circles.

Stiles turned his neck to look back, squinting through the darkness. He could see nothing but a large silhouette in this lighting. He could make out broad shoulders and therefore it was not Erica, but he immediately determined that this was not his lithe best friend or Isaac. This person was not large enough to be Boyd either.

That left only one possible option.

"Derek?" he asked sleepily, blinking rapidly to free the haze from his eyes. The hand stilled for a single moment before resuming the gentle ministrations. He took that as confirmation and sighed heavily, allowing himself to sink more comfortably into the bed. He buried his face into the pillow once more, content to allow the touch. "… Have you been avoiding me?"

Stiles was unsurprised when there was no answer, but it was not satisfying. He had not heard from the werewolf in days. He knew only what the others had told him, but he was entitled to worry until he saw for himself. He actually suspected that Derek was blaming himself for this incident. It would explain why everyone else saw him regularly while Stiles had not.

It was an accident.

Derek was not responsible for what the hunters had done any more than he was responsible for what Stiles had decided to do in response. It was his choice to run into the heart of danger; to play the hero. He would do it again in a heartbeat. Did the stubborn wolf think Stiles blamed him?

Of course Derek might even have perfectly legitimate reasons for being absent all week, reasons that had nothing to do with him. He knew that. There might have been some new supernatural force wreaking havoc in town while he was lying in his sick bed. But he just had a feeling…

Stiles licked his lips slightly and turned over onto his back, disrupting the comforting motions. "… You know this wasn't your fault, right?"

Predictably the question went unanswered.

"You had no way of knowing they would attack us, okay? They attacked at a grocery store in broad daylight. What kind of idiot does that?" He shook his head, his jaw cracking as he yawned unexpectedly. "I know you think you have to protect me, but… I'm… I'm actually kind of glad I got skewered, okay? Those guys are in custody now. My dad is good at his job too. He will make sure those psychos can't hurt anyone else."

Stiles yawned again drowsily, unsurprised when there was still no response. He squinted through the darkness to see Derek, hoping to read his expression, but instead his eyelids closed unintentionally. He hated what the pain medication did to him. He was so tired, even after sleeping for so long. He felt like he was losing track of his days.

"Not your fault…" he whispered firmly, and then he was asleep.

Stiles woke again hours later when someone shook his shoulder. He groaned in protest when sunlight danced across his face, momentarily blinding him. He shielded his eyes with his pillow and heard a chuckle; the pillow was tugged away from him, but he held onto it tightly.

"Dude, you're going to smother yourself," Scott said, the grin apparent in his tone. "Come on, pancakes with blueberry syrup await you downstairs!"

Stiles lowered the pillow skeptically. "You expect me to believe that my father cooked pancakes without having to call the fire department… or the poison control center?"

"I never said he made the pancakes."

Stiles stared at him, eyes wide with horror. "You made them?"

"Hey!" Scott huffed, a reluctant smile growing on his face. "I'm not that bad!"

"Should I remind you of the boxed cake incident last month?" Stiles drawled, raising an eyebrow. He grinned when Scott flushed.

"It was only a small fire!" he protested quickly. "I did exactly what the box said too! It said _grease the bottom of the pan_. How was I supposed to know it meant the _inside_ of it?"

Stiles pursed his lips together to keep from mentioning that it was common sense. He rose onto his elbows, shaking his head as he did a quick sweep of the room. He could see no outward signs that anyone else had been in it recently. He frowned slightly, a brief worry surging through him that he had imagined the whole encounter with Derek last night.

Had it all been a dream…? He couldn't believe that. He _refused_ to believe that. Why would he be dreaming of Derek?

Scott interrupted his thoughts before he could contemplate it. "My mom is downstairs," he told him. "She came to pick me up, but saw that your dad was trying to make himself a ham sandwich for breakfast and put a stop to it."

"That man…" Stiles said, shaking his head in amusement. He gladly accepted the hand Scott offered him, relying on the super wolf strength to help him up. His side twinged painfully at the new position, but he would rather eat something before he exiled himself into a medicated stupor again. "Hey Scott…"

"Hmm?"

"… Was Derek here last night?" he asked as casually as he could. He felt validated when Scott nodded.

"Derek took the night shift so I could sleep," he told him. "I think he left about an hour ago. Isaac is supposed to replace me in a while so I can get to school."

Stiles nodded. "Isaac starts back the same day I do, right?"

"Yep,"

Scott helped him down the stairs, hovering beside him the whole way. They made it into the dining room without incident and Stiles had to take a moment to stare when they entered. He could see his father at the head of the table and Melissa beside him. She slapped his hand away from the enormous stack of pancakes in the center of the table.

"Wait for your son, John," she ordered firmly, a no nonsense tone in her voice.

"This is my house, Melissa," his father rebutted. "I can eat when I want."

Melissa gave him a decidedly unimpressed look. Her eyebrows rose and she tilted her head in challenge. His father sighed heavily and slumped down in his chair in defeat. Stiles held in a snort and glanced sideways at Scott, sharing a secret smile with his best friend as they moved to take their seats.

Neither of them was under any illusion that their parents would ever be together. They had dared to hope in the past, back when they could see just how alone their parents seemed… or when they desperately wanted to be brothers. But it would likely never happen.

Stiles sank into a chair gratefully, easing out a breath when the motion tugged at his staples. "Morning," he greeted cheerily, glancing around the table. His father had a slight frown on his face momentarily, but it cleared up when their eyes met. He smiled at him, but turned to their guest first. "Smells great, Mrs. McCall,"

Melissa smiled brightly back at him. "Thank you, sweetheart," she said, rising slightly and using a fork to spear a pancake onto his plate. "Would you like maple or blueberry syrup?"

"Blueberry, please," he requested, smirking at his father when Melissa bustled to serve him. "Thank you so much."

"You're very welcome," Melissa gave him a conspiratory wink. "Nice to see that _some_ men have manners," she said with a pointed glance at both her own son and the sheriff.

The former had a pancake rolled up in his hand that was dripping with the syrup he had dunked it in, while the latter was reaching far over the table to grab the butter, nearly dipping his sleeve into the pitcher of orange juice.

"Wha?" Scott mumbled with his mouth full of food. "I haff manna!"

"Scott," she reprimanded in exasperation. "No talking with your mouth full."

Stiles snickered under his breath and dug into the meal.

Breakfast was nice. Not only was the food good, but the company was as well. He put some effort into eating as much as he could stomach to be polite. It had nothing to do with the disapproving scowl that came to mind every time he began pushing the food around on his plate.

Melissa decided to check on his bandages while Scott and his father got stuck with the dishes. She was pleased to note that everything was healing nicely, but it all still just looked horrific and grotesque to him. He held still as she dabbed at it with the bacitracin ointment he had been prescribed.

"Will that make the scars less noticeable?" he asked curiously.

Melissa looked up from her task. "This is just the antibiotic ointment. There are some topical creams that could help with the visibility, but unfortunately there is no sure way to make them completely invisible."

Stiles appreciated the honest answer. "Meh," he shrugged off his disappointment. "It makes me look all tough and manly." She made no reply, but he thought her smile looked kind of sad.

Eventually both Scott and Melissa had to leave.

It was a school day and Scott was already in deep enough trouble on that front; he could not afford to miss another day of class. For Melissa, she had just gotten off the night shift, so she probably wanted to go home and catch up on some rest. They both promised to return later before they filed out with minutes to spare before school started.

Stiles smiled awkwardly at his father once they were alone. His father had been granted a short sabbatical while Stiles recovered, which gave them about a week to spend together. To be honest, he was somewhat at a loss of what to do. It had been months since they were able to spend any length of time together. Lately any time they did share was spent giving a quick exchange before they went their separate ways.

It was simultaneously nice and awkward.

"So," his father said haltingly, giving him a curious glance. "How about we get you situated on the couch for today? It might be easier on you to camp out down here until you're strong enough to make it up and down the stairs yourself."

Stiles sighed a bit. "I'm fine dad," he assured him. "Climbing a few stairs isn't going to make me collapse…" His father gave him an unconvinced frown.

"It would make me feel better if you had easy access to an exit in case of emergencies," he added sternly, although what kind of emergencies could Stiles get into in the comfort of his own home? "You will be closer to the kitchen and the bathroom is just right there. I can also bring your laptop and your game console down here."

Stiles rolled his eyes indulgently. "If it will make you feel better," he agreed, already shuffling toward the bathroom. "You can forget about the games for now, but I'll take the laptop. Could you grab some books for me too?"

"Only you would ignore video games in favor of books," his father chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Which ones do you want?"

"Just the three books on my desk," he told him. "They should be stacked together next to my laptop. Could you grab the leather bound one on my bedside table too?"

"Sure, son," he agreed, hovering nearby until they reached the bathroom. "Do you need me to—?" He cut himself off with an awkward grimace. He seemed to realize that there was no chance Stiles would be able to take care of business with his father standing _right there_. "I'll just go get your computer and those books."

Stiles waved him away gratefully. "Thanks, dad, but I got it." He quickly relieved himself and was just washing his hands when he noticed something odd. He paused and frowned slightly as he turned the faucet off.

Bringing his wrist closer for inspection, he tried to recall if he had hurt himself there at all. It was just a small mark, little pinpricks that had left a crescent shaped bruise along the inside of his wrist. He felt a tugging in his mind at the sight; it looked familiar. He stared at it for a long moment, the nagging suspicion still there even as he tried to ignore it.

It was just a small bruise; not noteworthy in the least.

Stiles supposed it could have easily been from the assault. He could barely remember anything about it, so it was possible it was just lingering marks from the scuffle. He was almost certain the markings had not been there the day before, but then again, with skin so pale, even the slightest mark was obvious. He ran his fingertips over it curiously.

Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.

All at once his entire body seized, every muscle going taut. He became increasingly aware of just how sensitive his skin was. The feel of the fabric as it glided across his skin, the coolness of the porcelain sink digging into his hands as he grappled for support, it was all… intensified. Like his skin had been rubbed raw and everything he touched only made it worse.

Despite his best efforts to stay upright, Stiles collapsed to his knees and landed on the tile at an awkward angle. He could barely even register the strain in his muscles; he only realized he was falling backwards once his back hit the ground, his pained gasp morphing into a breathy moan as he unconsciously closed his eyes.

Another moan escaped him, one of half terror and half _something else_. His hands scrambled for purchase on something, anything, but they only managed to slide across the tile due to his suddenly sweaty palms. He didn't understand what was happening to him; why he could feel _so much._

The sensations surging through his body were foreign and they were driving him mad. He could hear everything. He could feel everything. He could smell everything. _Too much, too much…_ everything was too much. His world had been torn away and replaced with a nerve dissolving bliss, completely overwhelming every fiber of his being. His own body was out of his control, betraying him.

Stiles could barely breathe through the crushing weight of amounting pleasure. He gasped desperately, trying to fill his burning lungs with some much needed oxygen. He could feel darkness approaching, even as a brilliant light began to shine behind his tightly clenched eyelids. He shook uncontrollably and whipped his head to the side.

Suddenly he became aware of a strong presence breaking through the blissful, torturing pleasure. He could feel it, settling into the back of his mind and near his heart permanently, burning and everlasting like a brand within, almost like something carved upon his ribs. It was a warm and welcoming presence, protective and incredibly strong.

Unnamed emotions surged within him, feelings not his own, flashing so quickly through his consciousness that he could not identify any of them at first. Emotions that tore at his soul, made it bleed with empathy. There were other emotions too; better ones that helped alleviate some of the pain, but they were fewer.

… Somehow that made his heart ache even more.

Salty tears and sweat mingled as they rolled off of him in rivulets. He had never experienced anything like this, the world amplified a hundredfold beyond imagination, and now _feeling_ someone else inside of him… it was amazing; it was terrifying.

Then his world became a flash of lightning—smoldering, blazing and brilliant. His back lifted from the floor in a graceful arch, his mouth opening wide in silent ecstasy. He let out a sob as something akin to electrical currents coursed through him, running along his back and his chest… between his thighs.

Collapsing into a boneless heap on the floor as his body finally gave out Stiles continued to shudder uncontrollably with aftershocks. He gazed up at the ceiling, heavy and utterly content, unable to muster up the will to move. He licked up upper lip and could taste the salt from his tears and sweat. He felt exhausted and lethargic.

"What…" he croaked out, his voice harsh and broken. He had to swallow several times to wet his parched throat. "… the hell?"

"Stiles?" a voice called distantly, and it took him a moment to realize it was his father. He was beyond the door, his voice full of concern. "You okay, kid?"

Stiles lazily tilted his head in the direction of the door. "… Uh huh," he breathed out, distracted and confused. He was acutely aware of every inch of his body. He could already feel his cheeks filling with blood and shifted uncomfortably as a certain part of his anatomy slowly wilted. "'m fine, dad."

The man sounded hesitant when he responded. "Are you sure?"

Stiles cringed as he rose onto his elbows for two completely different reasons. One because of the sharp, aching pain that finally made itself known for even attempting to move after staining himself, and two because he suddenly became aware that his thighs were covered in something sticky and wet that made his sweatpants cling to his skin. He shuddered at the feel of it and tried not to move too much, still feeling to sedate to react rationally.

"… Yeah," he said belatedly, realizing his father was awaiting an answer. "Could you… grab my pain pills though? It's starting to hurt again… and maybe some new clothes? These ones smell like… sweat." _Among other things…_ He held his breath and waited for a long, tense moment, calming slightly once he heard the affirming answer and the sound of retreating footsteps penetrated his scattered thoughts.

Stiles had never had an orgasm that intense before. He never thought they could _be_ that intense. His few attempts at masturbation paled in comparison. He felt like he should be panicking right about now, because that was not normal. Not normal at all. He just came in his pants. Had that really just happened?

There was something else though. He could feel it, something pulsing through him. It was like a steady thrum within his being, causing his skin to tingle. He had no idea what it was, but it was intense and… it felt safe. It made him feel safe. He was so confused and content and embarrassed by what had just occurred.

_Holy shit…_

Stiles slowly sat up fully and twisted over onto his knees in an attempt to stand. He steadfast ignored the pain his actions caused; there was little he could do about it right now and he needed to get up before his father returned. He managed to stand, albeit very unsteadily—he felt woozy from this height, his legs feeling as if they were made of gelatin and too unstable to support his weight.

Once he finally stood at his full height, he let out a slow breath and braced himself against the countertop. He felt in need of an impromptu nap. He was extremely tired and that coupled with his injuries was taking a toll on his weary body. Not to mention… this whole incident… whatever the hell it was.

Stiles simply stared at the offending scratch for an unconscionable moment. He could not deny the pleasant shiver that danced along his spine, his fingers twitching slightly. Heat pulled near his groin with just the thought of touching it again. He curled his fingers into a tight ball, having to restrain himself from doing just that.

 _Holy shit…_ he thought again, tearing his eyes away. He caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror, breaths already coming out in quick pants. His eyes were half lidded, pupils completely blown wide with shock and… arousal. He pressed a cool hand to his flaming cheeks. He looked positively _wrecked._

Stiles had no time to contemplate it though; he had mere moments before his father would be back. He turned the faucet back on and made sure the stream of water was icy cool. It woke him up a little, thankfully, when he splashed it over his face. He looked marginally better by the time there was a quiet knock on the door.

Creating a small crack in the door, his father passed over a small bundle of clothing. "Here you go, kiddo," he said gruffly. "I have your medication and a drink out here when you're ready." He closed the door shut behind him.

"Thanks dad," Stiles said gratefully. He tugged his baggy shift off with some effort, the pain in his arm hindering him. He grimaced when it came time to remove the sweats though, practically having to peel them away from his crotch. He used toilet paper to clean as much of the semen off as possible. Some of it had already dried onto his skin, but it flaked off easily enough when he used his fingernails to scratch at it.

Stiles sorely wished he could take a shower. He wanted to cleanse himself of all the evidence, but that would probably be more suspicious than just asking for fresh clothes. He tossed his ruined clothes into the hamper, suddenly really glad that he was the one who handled all of the laundry.

Hesitating slightly as a thought occurred to him, Stiles wondered if it would happen again. He had the sudden horrifying image of his father grabbing him by the wrist and… yeah, no, no way. Not happening. He grimaced and gave the bruise a worrying look.

Bracing himself for another embarrassing episode, he brushed his fingers over the mark and clenched his eyes shut. He exhaled slowly, registering that other than a small spark of pleasure, nothing happened. He pried his eyes back open, strangely disappointed and elated all at once. He tested it again, just to be sure, and finally relaxed his tense muscles.

A chill ran up his bare spine, gooseflesh appearing over his pale skin; it reminded him that he was still nude. He pulled the shirt carefully over his head, shivering slightly as gravity allowed it to slide down the rest of his torso, caressing his still over sensitized skin. He pulled on the soft flannel pajama pants next, tying them around his waist quickly.

"Okay…" he exhaled quietly. "Okay."

Stiles crept out of the bathroom slowly, one arm extended toward the wall should he need support. His father had made up a cozy bed on the couch for him by the time he arrived, and he gratefully sank down onto the cushions.

"Here," he said, passing him one small pill and a glass of iced tea.

Stiles took it quickly and leaned back against the plump cushion. He swallowed the pill and took several small sips of the tea to wash it down. He looked up after a moment, pausing when he realized that his father had a deep seated frown on his face, making him look more drawn and weathered than usual.

"Dad?" he asked cautiously. His eyes were drawn to the books amassed into a small tower on the coffee table, noting that his father slanted his eyes toward them. "What is it?"

Instead of answering the question, his father asked one of his own. "Where did you get these?" His voice was quiet and unreadable.

"… I ordered those three online," he answered. "The other one belongs to Allison. It is a family heirloom of hers and she wanted to translate it. The most I know how to say in Latin is _veni, vidi, vici_ , which… well. _I came, I saw, I conquered_. Not exactly helpful. So I figured I could occupy myself with learning the language and help her out."

"The Argent girl?" his father questioned, his frown deepening when Stiles nodded. "She is dating Scott, right?"

Stiles nodded slowly. "They have been having some relationship troubles recently, but I think they're officially back together now. Her parents don't exactly approve of Scott, but…" He shrugged. "I think it all worked itself out."

"… Stiles? Have you," his father hesitated, but eventually continued. "You went into the attic a couple months ago right?"

Stiles gave him a curious look as he finished his tea off. "Yeah," he confirmed. "I went looking for the box of old Halloween costumes and stuff." He cracked a smile and finished, "I used the special effects make up to make me look like a vampire. I looked awesome, remember?"

"Did you find anything else in there?"

The smile faded before he could stop it. "… I saw some… the…" His throat constricted, making it hard to say the words. "You kept her stuff." Their eyes met for a moment, sharing mutual longing and sadness. He swallowed. "I saw her dresser… and her vanity. It… smells like her up there too."

"… I kept everything." He verified solemnly. "After… everyone told me that selling it or throwing it away would help the healing process. Every time I so much as thought about it… I just _couldn't_. It's all still here, all of it." His expression cleared for a moment, a laugh escaping him. "Your mom would probably kill me for it too."

Stiles smiled sadly. "Cluttering up her clean house," he agreed. "Remember what she did to the garage?" Both men paused and simultaneously shuddered, recalling that little project. "A garage is a place to store vehicles, _not_ a storage facility." he quoted with a smirk. "You're lucky I only inherited half of her obsessive organizing skills."

"Moira could be damn scary," His father agreed, blue eyes crinkling in the corners. "She was so intelligent that just being in the same room with her could make someone feel inferior, especially if they managed pissed her off. But your mother was amazing… she loved with her whole heart and lit up the world."

Stiles reached out and grabbed his hand. "… I miss her."

"I do too." His father nodded. "I do too…" He stared down at Stiles with a strangely hesitant look, something guarded and uneasy. "… You remind me of her so much sometimes. Your mannerisms… your wit…" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Did you know she spoke Latin fluently?"

Stiles stared at him in interest, shaking his head. He thought he should have known though. She was the one who taught him what _veni, vidi, vici_ meant. He liked that he was learning something that she knew. He liked feeling connected to her; he felt even more determined to learn the archaic language now.

"No one could ever tell her it was a dead language," his father added slyly. "Some of her… journals… were written in Latin. They should all be in a trunk along the far wall, if you want to look at them some time."

"I will," he smiled. "Thanks."

The sheriff cleared his throat. "Yes, well," he sighed. "Just be careful. Anyway, Isaac should be here soon. His hearing is in a few days, so I thought he could get acquainted with his new surroundings before he moved in. I invited him to stay for dinner too. I was thinking of ordering a pizza."

Stiles was not sure what he meant about being careful, but he nodded anyway. He had deflected enough times in the past to recognize avoidance when he saw it. He knew how difficult it was talking about his mother though. He was glad that they could talk about her just this much without a drop of alcohol involved.

"… Pizza sounds good," he said quietly, secretly grinning at the way his father lit up at the agreement. He shook his head wryly; a man should not get that happy over greasy foods smothered in cheese. He blinked tiredly, rubbing at his eyes as the lethargy he had been fighting for the past few minutes took hold.

"You look like you need a nap," the man commented, already herding him down onto the makeshift bed more fully. He tucked the blanket around him and reached over to stroke a warm hand over his scalp. "Your hair got longer," he added, ruffling the short, bristly hair there.

"Mmm hmm," Stiles hummed contentedly. "Need to cut it."

"You should let it grow out more," the man said, cheekily adding, "Might make your uneven hairline less noticeable."

Stiles grinned sleepily up at him, his eyes fluttering shut briefly. "Speak for yourself, old man. You could be the spokesperson for the hair dye commercials, Mr. Salt n' Pepper,"

"I will have you know women find this look very attractive."

"Then women can find my uneven hairline attractive too," Stiles argued, mostly for the sake of arguing. He felt his father chuckle, giving him one last pat, and reached out blindly to catch his arm before he could stand. He took a steadying breath and added, "… Men could too. I'm an equal opportunity kind of guy."

There was no immediate response. He dared to open his eyes and peer up uncertainly; his father had an incomprehensible expression that was neither angry nor disappointed. He felt the stirrings of panic, wondering if he had misread everything, but then he felt arms wrap around him before his throat could close up.

"I know," his father whispered, squeezing him gently. "I've known for a while now, but I was waiting for you to say something."

Stiles still had no idea how his father knew before he did. He wondered if it was just something some parents just instinctively knew. Or maybe it was a sheriff thing. He decided not to question it though. He felt content right now; he felt as if his burden just got easier to bear. Some secrets were not his to share, but this one was. He may not be able to or even _want_ to share some of the other secrets he was keeping from his father, but he could be honest about this one thing at least.

Maybe for now that could be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... This was meant to come out over the weekend. Sorry for the wait! Hopefully it was worth it. Oh... and the rating just went up *blushes*


	14. Honorable Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek felt oddly intimidated. He wanted to reassure the man that he had nothing but honorable intentions.

### Honorable Intentions

It was almost dawn before Derek finally left the Stilinski house. He inched down the hall first to inform Scott he was leaving. He felt a bit irritated when the younger wolf almost immediately drifted off back to sleep, but there was little he could do about it since he heard the sheriff wake.

Nothing would happen in just half an hour. He tried to reassure himself of that fact, reluctant to leave, but he had to get some things done by tonight. By now the entire house was thoroughly saturated with the scent of the pack anyway. More specifically, it was marked with _his_ scent.

Anyone who dared to come near it knowing that fact would suffer tremendously.

Since it was still too early to do much, Derek decided to first get cleaned up. He ran leisurely back to the warehouse, trying to keep focused on today rather than last night. He spied the others still where he left them during the night, still piled up together on the pallet in a dead sleep. He shook his head at the sight and entered the abandoned subway cart he had claimed as his temporary residence.

Derek had to admit he looked forward to sleeping in an actual bed again. He had not had one since New York, although that had not been the most comfortable considering just how confined the apartment had been. There had been no privacy either, not with paper thin walls and his enhanced hearing allowing every dark secret his neighbors had to pour through.

Beyond that a real shower would be nice as well.

Gathering up a change of clothing and some toiletries, Derek made his way back out into the main room. He approached the makeshift bed and knelt down, reaching out to prod Isaac gently awake. He waited until the boy looked at him with bleary eyes before speaking.

"You said to wake you at sunrise," he stated simply.

"Yeah…" Isaac drew in a deep breath, mouth opened wide, before he snapped his jaw shut with a soft whine. He rose up slightly and rubbed at his eyes. "I'm awake," he said tiredly, blinking the excess sleep away. "Was everything okay with Stiles?"

Derek nodded, not elaborating any further. "You should wake Boyd and Erica soon. They need to get home so they can get ready for school." He rose back to his feet and glanced down at the other two, lifting an eyebrow when he saw just how entangled they seemed to be. He gave Isaac a questioning glance and the boy only snorted.

"Erica practically crawled on top of him last night," he said with a smile. "I kind of can't wait to see what their reaction will be when they wake up." His expression turned curious. "How long will you be gone today?"

"Probably until five o'clock," Derek told him. "There are just a few errands I need to take care of. You're with Stiles until school is out. Everyone else should be available by then, so just hash it out between the four of you who takes the next shift."

Isaac only shook his head. "Sheriff Stilinski invited me to stay the day with them," he admitted, a shy and somewhat nervous pang to his voice. "I think… he wants me to be comfortable about moving in. He mentioned something about ordering a pizza for dinner. I should be there all day long. Let the others have a day off."

"… Make sure Stiles eats a little," he ordered quietly, shaking his head when Isaac gave him a questioning frown in return. "Be alert, be safe. I'll relieve you sometime after dinner."

Derek bade him farewell and then left the warehouse. He enjoyed the stillness of the early morning on his hike, following the same path up the mountain he had shown the others. He took his time, deviating from the summit when the path branched off. He heard the sound of the strong current long before he reached his destination.

The trees thinned out the further he ventured up the path until finally the rocky bed of the stream came into view. It cascaded through the rocks, cresting over them white and continuing back down the hill he had just climbed. He moved further upstream to where the water turned darker where it was deep and set his things down on the boulder near the waterbed to keep dry.

Derek had been bathing here ever since he returned to Beacon Hills. It was not exactly ideal. He knew that. He had been tempted on more than one occasion to sneak into the school and use the gym showers. Eventually he decided against the idea though. He preferred the cool, clean water from this stream more than he desired to bathe in that cesspool.

Divesting himself of his clothing, the chill of the morning air made itself known. He was hardly affected by it, but could feel it seep through his skin all the same. He grabbed the bar of organic soap out of his bag and slipped into the cold water. He sighed as it surrounded him, wading through until he was waist deep.

Although the water was practically arctic this time a day, Derek could feel the knots in his muscles loosen. He had not bathed in days; not since the day Stiles had been attacked. Once he knew for certain that Stiles would live, he had cleaned himself up as much as possible in the hospital bathroom. He could still smell the lingering scent of blood.

It had been days ago, but he still felt dirty and drenched in the tacky liquid.

Derek washed quickly and efficiently. He just wanted to rid himself of a few days worth of sweat and grime and unwanted scents that reminded him of how fragile human life was. He lathered himself with the soap more than once in an effort erase the blood scent. He scrubbed it from his skin almost until he bled, satisfied only when the soap eclipsed the memory.

A pleasant shiver worked its way down his spine abruptly.

It caught him completely by surprise as he was preparing to rinse off. The sensation began as just a soft tingle, but quickly became something else entirely. He clenched his jaw and braced his arm against a nearby rock to keep upright, the faint sheen of dark hair growing in the morning light.

Confusion clouded every thought, the barest hints of panic arising. He could hear the heartbeat ringing in time with his own, steadily louder, faster; he listened harder and could hear the distant, muffled sounds of heavy panting and distorted cries of pleasure. He clenched his eyes shut as the sounds shot straight to his cock.

Derek struggled to suppress the relentless onslaught of emotions. He knew what was happening, but he was still unable to keep the emotional transference from overtaking him completely. He had never felt so out of control before; not when he was younger and not even when he had become the alpha.

Groaning as a wave of pleasure surged through him Derek felt his features shift without his consent. His eyes glowed red and he ran his tongue over his fangs before releasing a harsh breath. 

Stiles had just found the mark; Derek was sure of it.

There was no other explanation. He had experienced something similar when he marked Kate at the height of their relationship, but… not like this. He could remember feeling her satisfaction once the bond was initiated. He had been somewhat aroused, but mostly just content that she seemed happy.

Kate had only been satisfied that she got what she wanted though. She had been claimed by a wolf, the initial stage of courtship. It is such a tentative, fragile bond, and she used it fully to her advantage. She tricked him so thoroughly that his own senses betrayed him. He had been wholeheartedly convinced that he was in love with her.

This was far more intensified.

Derek almost wanted to laugh at the stark contrast. He felt _everything,_ not just one vague emotion. He wondered how a person could be so open, so heartbreakingly open. He rested his head against his forearm, eyes closed as he just allowed himself to feel. His whole body shook when he was able to pick out the helplessness and the absolute terror.

How long had Stiles been feeling this way? He could not determine exactly, but he just knew that all of these dark emotions were something that the boy lived with constantly. He hid it all well, kept it all bottled up inside; he masked it all with a cheerfulness and optimistic nature that fooled even an alpha wolf most of the time.

Derek groaned when a searing heat burned through his mind and his chest. He exhaled a breath when it subsided, reveling in the moment that the bond solidified into something tangible within him. He eased himself back against the rock and stared up at the sky, almost whimpering as the pleasure became unbearable.

Unintentionally he found his soapy hand drifting toward his erection. He wanted to touch himself so badly. He wanted to imagine long pale fingers exploring his chest, running down his body; touching him like he had allowed no one else to touch since he was young. He snatched the hand back with an angry growl though.

Taking advantage of Stiles was out of the question and to give in now would feel too much like he was doing something wrong. In all likelihood, the boy probably had no idea what was even happening to him right now. Not for the first time since last night, Derek felt shame for not preventing this. He should have never done it.

Calmness settled in his mind and Derek sighed contentedly when the bond finally began to quiet. He felt strangely gratified when it was all over, despite the fact that his own need remained unfulfilled. This claim would give him somewhat of an advantage. He would be able to determine right away if Stiles desired something more or not.

Derek finished bathing quick and emerged from the stream. He may not have been able to feel the cold water when he first got in, but now he could feel it biting into every inch of his skin. He was uncertain just how long he had been in the water, and he his fingers and toes felt a bit frozen now. He dressed and gathered his things before heading back toward the warehouse.

Claiming Stiles without his consent had been borderline atrocious. He felt disgusted with himself for doing it. He had not set out to claim him; he only went last night to protect Stiles while he slept. There had been no ulterior motive there. This was just something that had been building for a while and last night the compulsion grew too strong to ignore.

Derek knew just how unbalanced he had become since his uncle killed his mate. He had not been lying when he told Stiles that losing a mate was difficult to live with. He held no regard for her, not since he discovered her true intentions; his own feelings about her were irrelevant.

Kate Argent died and with her went a majority of his anger and his hatred. She fueled his rage and he would channel those feelings into keeping himself grounded. But when she died, he lost the only thing that kept him in control. He had been so utterly lost for weeks, immersed in the lack of control combined with the seductive drawl of his new status.

Somehow Stiles had become his anchor in her stead.

Wolves were possessive creatures by nature. It was only natural that he would become attached over time. His subconscious mind claimed Stiles long before Derek even realized what was happening between them. It was a consequence of relying so heavily on the young man, of using him as a new anchor.

Instead of anger and hate, Derek felt fondness and peace. He never imagined that he would enjoy the company, but he found himself drawn in by Stiles more and more each time they interacted. He liked Stiles; he liked relying on him. He could even admit that he _needed_ Stiles as more than just a way to stay sane… as a friend.

For now that was enough.

Their companionship could grow to something more perhaps; he was receptive to the idea, which is what urged him to stake his claim before someone else did. Derek may not have had any other relationships in the past, but he was not blind.

Stiles was a rather attractive young man. His features were soft a refined, and although he could never be called ruggedly handsome, there was something about him that was almost like gravity. He was a strong, compassionate person, and Derek found himself wanting to be around him for more than just obligation to protect him.

Derek had a penchant for impatience, however, apparently even subconsciously.

Consent would be needed to make this new bond permanent; otherwise it would fade and become void after a certain length of time. He doubted it would fade, not when the memory of that one day he had pushed Stiles against a door came to mind. His senses had immediately been flooded with teenage arousal and it did not escape his notice how Stiles kept staring at his mouth.

That was weeks ago though. He knew very well that attraction did not mean Stiles actually liked him. If the boy turned out to be indifferent to him or averse to his advances, Derek would just have to deal with it.

The claim would give Derek somewhat of an advantage. He would be able to feel everything Stiles felt; he could determine whether or not he should prepare himself to quietly accept rejection. He would do the honorable thing and walk away. He could not force someone to care for him. He would not force Stiles into a relationship.

It would be difficult to step aside, but not impossible.

Everyone was already gone by the time Derek arrived. He tossed his dirty clothes into the backseat of his car for now and popped the trunk. His most treasured possessions sat in the left corner, all safely tucked away. He rifled through the items carefully, seeking out a book and a small wooden case with a triskelion carved into the top.

Derek spent the next four hours making a series of phone calls. He spoke with a representative of _Dire &Wolfe Construction_ first. He was on the phone with the company a lot longer than he initially thought he would be. He had known his family had an account with them in the past; it was not terribly surprising. But he was interested to learn that his sister had been in contact with them as well.

Laura had apparently contacted the agency to rebuild only weeks before she passed away. He was not entirely certain how he felt about that information, but he agreed to speak with the architect she hired. He wanted to see the original blueprints she had drawn up and he made sure to give a list of his own specifications. They made an appointment to meet and look everything over early next week.

Contacting other packs outside of Beacon Hills turned out to be much more difficult a task. He had been operating under the hope that even if they could not contribute any physical assistance, perhaps they could help him understand his new position better and maybe give him some information regarding their reptilian enemies.

Unfortunately it was very mentally taxing and disheartening. Over eight pages worth of their old allies listed in the little book he had so carefully safeguarded were currently inactive. He crossed out their names, feeling as though the inked lines were taunting him with a reminder that he was all alone in this.

Disconnected numbers could mean anything; perhaps they were old and had been changed. It did not have to mean something nefarious. He could only hope that those packs were alive and well, trying not to think of what the alternative could be. His own experiences with hunters made him doubtful though. He wanted to be wrong.

Derek did manage to speak with a handful of people at least, although none of them were exactly who he needed to speak with. He spoke with the betas in charge, argued with them for the longest time too. It was useless though. None were persuade to give the phone over to their alphas without following protocol.

Correspondence through traditional letters was considered a common courtesy amongst wolves. Their sense of smell allowed the receiver to get a sense of the intentions and a general scent of the alpha sending the letter. It was expected and refusal to do so was not only an insult, but could be construed as a threat.

Derek had no choice. He dutifully jotted down addresses next to the corresponding names in respect to their wishes. He had no idea how to write a formal letter though, especially not one meant for another alpha. He had not been trained for this like his sister had. There were some brief memories of his father sitting at the enormous desk in his office. He would use a calligraphy pen and would scrawl out invitations and salutations to nearby packs.

In theory it should be easy enough.

Derek had expected it to be honest, which is why he dug out the letter seal and wax. He would need to go out and purchase a stationary though. Sending a letter of this importance demanded more than a sheet of paper from a composition notebook; therefore he loaded up into his car and drove into town to buy some nice paper.

Composing the drafts was not an easy task; he was under no illusion that he had great communication skills. He tried to cover all the points in his writing, making sure to include the names of his pack and the fact that hunters had been attacking. He also mentioned the kanima, requesting more information on the creature if nothing else.

It was not perfect, but it was decent enough.

By some point in the afternoon there was only one number left to call.

Derek had been procrastinating all day because it would be the hardest. He knew it by heart and folded the little book up for another time, hesitant to actually dial the number. He steeled himself as he punched in the numbers, bringing the device to his ear to listen as it began ringing. He held his breath when the sound cut off suddenly, smiling unintentionally when the voice of a child washed over him.

" _Hello?_ "

"… Hey Maxwell," he greeted gently.

" _Hi! Do I know you?_ "

Derek closed his eyes against the sharp pang of disappointment. "This is Derek," he told him, trying not to let the boy know just how much it hurt not to be recognized. To be fair they had not seen each other since Max turned four. He would be six by now. "Uncle Derek."

" _Derek?_ " the boy repeated slowly, recognition finally ringing in his voice. " _Uncle Derek? Momma's brother?_ "

" _Give me the phone, Max._ " another familiar voice interrupted suddenly, and Derek could hear the little boy hasten to obey the command of his alpha and father. " _Derek?_ "

"… Logan."

" _What do you need?_ "

Derek exhaled slowly at the brusque question. "I could use some help."

" _With the alpha?_ "

"No. The alpha is… I'm the alpha now."

Logan knew what that meant without asking. " _Are you still in Beacon Hills?_ "

"Yes."

" _I will be there tomorrow night._ " Logan said immediately, and before Derek could even protest or comment at all, he asked, "… _Who was it?_ "

"Peter Hale," he admitted. "My uncle... he was feral."

" _I'm sorry you had to do that, Derek._ "

Logan ended the call without another word.

Derek was not sure what he had been expecting with the call, but that conversation was not it. He had not spoken to the other man in months. He could not have predicted that a call now would entice Logan to come here. There was no point in objecting now though.

Another phone call would be ignored if what the man said was true. Oregon was not too far away from Beacon Hills, but if Logan intended to make it by tomorrow night he would need to leave immediately. He could only wait for his arrival now.

Town was quiet as Derek finished running his errands. His last stop was the post office. He needed to purchase the use of a postal box and send off the formal letters. He weighed and stamped each letter, going through them one last time to make sure each address was correct, and then it was just out of his hands.

Everything finally seemed as if it were coming together now. His pack was beginning to trust one another; they were obeying and learning and bonding. He found a surprising ally among the hunters, with the potential for other, and now he had the opportunity to form alliances with other wolves. He couldn't help but think this was just the calm before the storm though.

Derek had just emerged from the post office when he came to an abrupt halt. His mood wavered when he spotted someone leaning against his car, obviously waiting for his return. He was tempted to just walk the other way, but then he caught sight of the face.

Sheriff Stilinski stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Determination and something uninviting clouded his features. His scent gave off something bitter and angry, though the emotion was tightly controlled. He was not dressed in his uniform, so this was not an official visit, but that was nothing more than a small relief.

Resuming his approach, Derek steeled himself for an interrogation.

Sheriff Stilinski straightened up when he spotted him. "Hale," he greeted evenly, his expression giving away nothing.

"Can I help you with something, Sheriff?"

Sheriff Stilinski thinned his lips into a grim line. "Follow me." He did not wait for a response, turning his heel and striding toward the patrol car parked outside of the pizzeria across the street. He opened the door and waited; the look in his eyes was unmistakable.

Derek felt a certain sense of foreboding as he moved to join him. He idled up to the passenger side of the car, sliding into the vehicle reluctantly. He shut the door behind him and stared at the dash. His mind was racing as the man beside him buckled his seatbelt and backed out of the parking space without another word. He clicked his own into place belatedly.

"What is this about, sir?"

Sheriff Stilinski gave him a sideways glance, his knuckles bone white as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. "You have been in town for almost four months now."

Derek glanced at him uncertainly. "Yes sir."

"Do you know what has happened in the past four month, Hale?" Sheriff Stilinski asked harshly, pulling off to a side road that led away from downtown. "I have been buried neck deep in paperwork, overloaded with one murder after another, struggling to solve cold cases from six years ago, and the real kicker is my son seems to be involved in all of it."

"Sheriff, I—"

"I'm not finished." He said flatly, eventually pulling off to the shoulder of the road. Trees surrounded the car from either side, no buildings or people around for at least three miles. They were alone and secluded. "My son accused you of murder, not once, but _twice._ "

"Forensic cleared me for Laura," Derek pointed out uneasily. "You already have my statement for that."

"You came looking for your sister and found her dead," Sheriff Stilinski nodded. "I have your version of events for the break in at the school, as well. You broke into the school that night to track down Adrian Harris, the chemistry teacher, in order to interrogate him, right? Following information your sister uncovered about the fire in order to find her killer?"

"… Yes."

"You also said you had nothing to do with the incident that occurred with Lydia Martin and my son at the school," the man added evenly. "That you were out of town, but my son seemed to think you were involved somehow. He also admitted he knew you better than he initially let on." He reached for a manila folder on the dash. "Open it."

Derek met his eyes briefly as he took the folder, forcibly keeping his hands steady. He had an idea of where this was going just by their conversation. He felt irrationally fearful of whatever was inside the folder as he reached to pen it. He had fought all sorts of demons in his short life, monstrous beasts and demented hunters never once allowing him some peace of mind. He had faced much greater forces than a protective, _human_ father.

Inside were several photographs.

All of them were obviously taken from some kind of surveillance footage, judging from the time stamp and low quality. He could easily make out the two figures though. It was taken from the diner, a wide angle that showed the entire dining area. He and Stiles were sitting in the far corner, playing tic-tac-toe with sweetener packets and silverware.

Derek swallowed down his nerves and through the pictures one by one. Each image was completely innocent. They ate their food and enjoyed the company; there was nothing too bad about it. The first true twinge of nervousness churned in his gut when he reached images from the grocery store.

Stiles had almost slipped on a wet floor and Derek grabbed him to prevent it. He knew how it looked though; their position could be construed as intimate. They had walked pretty closely throughout the whole store, each image showing that clearly. It also picked up on the fact that Derek purchased a phone which he then gave to Stiles.

Without the proper context of wolves and humans, a grown man spending time and buying things for a sixteen year old boy sounded condemning. Their situation was only made worse by the fact that he was a person of interest with several accusations of murder behind him, especially since this particular boy had been involved in accusing him to begin with.

Derek tightened his grip on the photographs when he came to the last set. His breath caught as he realized these must have been taken on a high angle from somewhere outside the hospital. He could barely recognize himself on the image, body drenched in blood and face distorted with desperation as he carried Stiles toward the emergency room.

"You were with my son the day he got attacked."

Derek cringed at the accusation in his voice and nodded his head. "Yes, sir," he agreed, noting the last few pictures were of the hallway in the hospital itself, just outside of the room Stiles had been in after his surgery. Each one showed him entering and leaving the room well after visiting hours.

"My neighbor thought it prudent to inform me that someone matching your description allegedly manhandled my son into a black sports vehicle. I showed her a picture of a 2010 Camaro and she confirmed it was the same car. He has been dropped off and picked up in it for a while now. So you are going to tell me what exactly your relationship to my son is."

"I…" He trained off uncertainly, not exactly sure how to begin. He knew Stiles wished to keep his father ignorant for his own safety, so telling him the truth was out of the question. To be honest, Derek actually thought having the sheriff on his side could be valuable. But he would respect Stiles' wishes. "I consider Stiles a friend of mine."

"My son thought I was you this morning," Sheriff Stilinski said harshly. "It was maybe five o'clock and I heard him having a nightmare. I went into his bedroom to wake him up and make sure he was okay… the first word out of his mouth was _your_ name, Hale. Think carefully about what you say to me right now."

Derek stared out of the window and exhaled the overwhelming scent of anger perfuming the air. He had no idea how to pacify a protective and angry father. "… I'm not sure what you want me to say. I know your son. He is… an invaluable friend. I… I trust him." He realized it was true the moment he said it. "Probably more than I trust anyone else."

Sheriff Stilinski sighed heavily, the fight suddenly draining out of him. He apparently realized that would be the only answers he got right now. He pressed against the headrest and scrubbed a hand down his weary face. "Answer me this then. Did you get my son involved in drugs?"

"No."

"What about a gang?"

"No, sir,"

"Prostitution?"

"No."

"An online gaming community that battles mythical creatures?"

Derek opened his mouth to deliver the automatic rebuttal, but paused as the unexpectedness of the question confused him. "A what?"

Sheriff Stilinski laughed tiredly and shook his head. "Nothing, kid," he said, the tension abating as he sighed again. "Nothing…" He took the folder back and set it up on his dash again, turning to give him one last questioning frown. "Is what happened to my son a hate crime? They attacked him because he was with you?"

Derek nodded slowly. "They saw us together in the grocery store." He could think of no other way to word it. He knew of the implications, but considering what happened last night, he thought this might be a gentler way of putting it.

"I know my son," the man said, starting the car up again. "I am not comfortable with you being friends with him, but Stiles will do as he damn well pleases even if I tell him not to." He shook his head fondly. "He takes after his mother that way…"

"Sheriff—"

"You should know that I have been studying martial arts since before I was your age," Sheriff Stilinski cut him off sternly. "Not to mention I am licensed to carry and discharge a weapon as I see fit. Do I really have to tell what will happen if your intentions are less than honorable with my underage son, Hale?"

Derek felt oddly intimidated. He wanted to reassure the man that he had nothing but honorable intentions. He wanted Stiles as a potential mate; it was a deep commitment, only breakable with death. He could not tell the sheriff that though.

"No sir," he said earnestly. "I… I understand."

Sheriff Stilinski nodded slowly. "Good," he said sharply, pulling back toward the pizzeria. "My son seemed upset that you might be avoiding him because of what happened. He figures you blame yourself that he got hurt."

"… It was my fault."

"No, kid," the man disputed firmly. "Most of those men that attacked you had prior records of assault. They are the ones to blame. Not you." He stalled the car in the parking lot, turning to look at him. "I hope you haven't made plans for dinner."

Derek paused in unbuckling his seatbelt. "I'm sorry?"

"It is pizza night," Sheriff Stilinski supplied, gesturing toward the building, and Derek vaguely recalled Isaac mentioning as much. "I came here to pick our order up. You're coming to dinner."

It was not a question or an invitation. He left no room for protest.

"I trust you know the way to the house?" the man asked dryly.


	15. Bizarre Occurrence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That was officially the most bizarre occurrence ever. He snorted when he realized that Derek Hale was nervous around his father. A week ago, he would have thought nothing ever fazed the mighty alpha wolf, but now he had seen it with his own eyes.

### Bizarre Occurrence

Stiles woke to something soft brushing against his face. He had been drifting in and out of sleep sporadically almost all day long. He was never really coherent enough to do more than open his eyes for a brief moment before he fell asleep again. Now he felt well rested, especially since nightmares had no chance to take hold.

Drawing a slow breath in, he determined that whatever was touching him smelled faintly of lemongrass, mild enough that it took him several moments to determine the scent. He inhaled deeply, wondering idly when he began thinking in terms of _scents,_ and pried his eyes open. He blinked in surprise at first, and then smiled involuntarily at the sight of a wilderness of blond curls.

Isaac had arrived earlier in the day as promised, however Stiles could only recall muttering a vague greeting before rolling over onto his side. He wondered just how Isaac and his father fared without him to mediate. He knew it would probably take time before Isaac trusted his father, especially since the man drank regularly sometimes; he hoped that eventually the other teen would see that he was a good man.

They would all live together soon after all. He wanted them all to get along.

Stiles could not see his father anywhere when he woke enough to look. He squinted out of the nearby window that gave a clear view of the driveway, noting that it was nearly dark outside and the patrol car was nowhere in sight. He guessed it was getting close to dinner time, which would explain the absence.

Isaac kept a silent vigil on the floor beside him. His lanky back was pressed against the couch while his long legs stretched out beneath the coffee table. There was an untouched bag of chips in front of him as well as a half full glass of water. His eyes were glued to the television ahead of him, watching as images flashed through the screen, but the volume was low enough that only inhuman ears could hear anything beyond a low hum.

The other boy looked comfortable and at peace, despite being wedged in a small space like that. He even seemed to be dozing off himself, his head reclining backwards momentarily before he caught himself and straightened up, only for it to occur again seconds later. Each time he did so, the fine ends of his hair would brush back against Stiles, moving against his jaw.

"That tickles…" he murmured quietly when it happened again.

Isaac must have been really invested in his show, because he twitched at the unexpectedness and turned around so quickly that his knees smacked hard against the coffee table. They both cringed at the painful sound, but before Stiles could ask if he was okay, the werewolf recovered immediately, sitting up fully now completely awake and alert.

"Hey," he said softly, blue eyes scanning his features for any sign of discomfort. "Are you okay? Your father said that you would be due for another dose of your pain medication soon. I can get it for you."

Stiles smiled wanly and took a moment to assess his own condition. His side ached dully, though he knew the pain would become sharp if he moved too quickly. Oddly enough it was not the injuries from his assault paining him the most, but a peculiar pressure in his shoulders. He could not remember being hurt there at all, and when he pressed against it, he could have sworn that it felt like some kind of air bubble beneath his skin.

"Not right now," he said finally, deciding to question it later.

Isaac nodded slowly, an uncertain pinch to his face. "… Are you hungry?"

Stiles blinked and had to wonder if his initial assessment was wrong. "I thought my dad would have gone to pick up dinner by now." He glanced out the window again, not sure where else the man would have gone. "Did he get called into work?"

"No," Isaac shook his head. "No, he did go to pick up the pizzas. I just thought…" He hesitated a bit, the pinch between his brows becoming more prominent. "You have been asleep all day long. Aren't you hungry?"

"Not really."

Isaac seemed to deflate a little. "Not even for a snack?"

Stiles immediately felt suspicious at the persistence as he shook his head negatively. His misgivings were only further expanded upon when he noticed just how the other boy seemed to purse his lips in anxious displeasure. He did not have to think long before he realized the cause and sighed in exasperation.

"Derek."

Isaac blinked owlishly; not confirming it, but not denying it either.

"Fess up, dude," Stiles told him. "What did our friendly neighborhood alpha say?"

Isaac just gave him an uncomfortable look and avoided his eyes. "You like comic books too? I have a whole collection of first editions. I can bring you some to read next time. Or… we can share once I move in."

Stiles felt his lips twitch unconsciously. "How did you ever have me convinced you were a major asshole for those first few weeks?" he wondered in disbelief.

"… You did say I was a good actor," Isaac gave him a muted smile, though he frowned a beat later and added, "Not to mention I went around attacking your best friend."

"Not your best moment, man." Stiles returned the smile. "For the record, my comic book collection probably surpasses yours by quite a bit, as does my collection of manga and probably my anime stash too. No lie. Once you move in though, we can totally share and have a marathon or something."

"I would like that." Isaac told him.

"So would I," he nodded. "But right now you're going to tell me what Derek said."

Isaac cringed and ducked his head with reluctance. "Just to make sure you ate." he admitted after a long drawn out pause, looking incredibly uncomfortable. He eyed him again, blue eyes staring at him with earnest. "Are you _sure_ you're not hungry?"

Stiles had to groan at the sight. "Oh my God," he said, covering his face with a throw pillow. "Fine, okay, I'll eat! Get me some crackers or something. Just stop looking at me like a kicked puppy." He dared to peek out from beneath the pillow, shaking his head when the other boy _preened_ at his acquiescence. "Your eyes are a deadly weapon, my friend."

Isaac paused in his haste to rise. "Really?"

There was something hesitant in his tone that stopped Stiles from delivering the automatic witty reply. He peered up at him, noting the cautious expression with some confusion, not certain what he had done to provoke it. He replayed his own words in his head and suddenly felt a pang of solemnness when it hit him.

Isaac was asking if he meant what he said; if he meant that he considered him a friend. It was a fair question, but Stiles had been under the impression that his own feelings on friendship with the pack were quite obvious. He may not know any of them as well as he would like to, but ever since they all began to hover around him at school and even more now that he'd been hurt, he started thinking of them in friendlier terms.

To be honest Isaac was probably the one besides Derek he had spent the most time with since all of this started. He actually thought that Derek arranged it that way because of the initial tension between him and Erica and the fact that Boyd was naturally solitary. He and Isaac got along well enough, so it was expected that he would come to like him.

Isaac must have thought he was taking too long to answer, because his face clouded over as he resumed his retreat. Stiles reached out quickly, catching his wrist and curling his fingers tight around him to keep him from leaving.

Immediately the other boy stilled and stared down at their hands uncertainly. His shoulders curled only slightly, but enough that it appeared as if he were preparing for something unpleasant. Just the thought of the assumption surprisingly hurt. Loneliness, it seemed, was a shared concept between them.

Stiles struggled to sit up, hissing when the movement pulled at his abdomen. He tugged slightly on his captive, insisted until Isaac eased down into the seat beside him. He gave him a steady look, not entirely sure what to say to reassure him that they were friends.

"Do you honestly think I would let just anyone live in my guest room?"

"… Yes."

Stiles could only blink at the affirmative answer. "Well, that wasn't the answer I was expecting." he admitted sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I was trying to be very reassuring, you know, and now you blew it. Care to elaborate?"

Isaac gave him a sidelong glance, his lips tugging at the corners. "It happened during elementary school," he shrugged. "I think it was during second grade. I always sat by myself during recess. I liked this one corner on the far side of the playground. No one used to bother me there… except you."

Stiles had no idea what he was talking about. "Your memory must be a lot better than mine, dude," he told him, although it was a total fib. He had a rather vivid memory, and though he could remember most of second grade, he only had a vague recollection of a shy boy slinking off alone. He never really spoke with Isaac until they both joined the lacrosse team last year.

"You always just stopped by for a few minutes and stared at me," he said. "You would just stare without saying anything at all."

"… Are you sure you have the right person?" Stiles asked jokingly to disguise his own confusion. "Because I'm not sure if you know this or not, but no one could ever get me to shut up for more than two seconds back then… or now, even."

Isaac nodded, looking sure of himself. "It was you. The fact that you were always so annoyingly talkative is why it always stood out to me. After about a week of that, you finally approached me once school let out. You just… grabbed my hand." He looked down now, where Stiles still had his fingers curled loosely around his wrist. "You dragged me to the parking lot to a woman with long dark hair and a pretty smile."

Stiles drew in a slow breath, saddening realizing what he was alluding to. He stared at him uncertainly, and Isaac gave him a sympathetic look.

"You walked right up to her and announced that I was moving in to your guest room." He told him, smirking a bit when Stiles could only muster up a dumfounded expression.

"Did I really?" he asked in bewilderment. He thought on it for a moment, trying to picture what his mother would have looked like at such an announcement. He could envision her exasperated smile and conceded, "Sounds like something I would do."

Isaac lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "You told her to file for adoption because you always wanted a brother." He smiled shyly then, shaking his head. "You said it would happen anyway and she should really just stop procrastinating."

Stiles honestly had no idea how he could have forgotten something like this. Considering what happened during second grade, however, he supposed it was only natural to suppress some of the memories. It had been the most emotional time of his life toward the end of the year.

"How come you never told me this before?" he asked curiously. "I mean… I remember seeing you around all the time, but you never really talked to me. Not even when you made the team last year."

Isaac sighed and flashed him an apologetic look. "You were called out of class a few days later," he reminded him. "I remember watching your father lead you away through the class room window. You missed school for almost a week and by the time you got back…"

Stiles knew exactly what happened the day his mother first collapsed. He understood then just why Isaac would have never approached him again. He had spent most of the week waiting in the hospital with his parents for the test results to come back. He ended up sitting alone in the waiting room while his mother discussed treatment options with the doctor at one point.

Melissa McCall had been on duty that day. He remembered bumping into her on his way to look at the vending machines. She had gently herded him into a small corner with Scott, who had been waiting for his father to pick him up, but the man never showed. They ended up spending hours together playing while they waited. It was how they became friends.

They were inseparable by the time Stiles returned to school.

"By the time I got back Scott and I were joined at the hip," he guessed in equal parts resignation and guilt. "I ignored you, didn't I?"

"… Not so much that as it was that Scott never let anyone else have your attention for long," Isaac told him, almost gently. "You tried to talk to me a few times after that, but eventually I just got tired of Scott glaring at me and started avoiding you." He lifted his shoulder in another shrug.

"Scott was a possessive little brat, wasn't he?" Stiles joked weakly, wincing inwardly at what that must have felt like for Isaac. He was going to hit Scott on the nose with a rolled up newspaper the next time he saw him for interfering with his childhood bromance.

Isaac nodded. "Yes, he was."

"Sorry, man."

"It's okay." Isaac grinned a bit, his whole face transforming. "Erica told us, you know? About how you apparently used to bake her cookies and how you defended her against Jackson. Boyd also said you would talk to him sometimes when you noticed he was sitting alone."

"… Okay," he said quirking an eyebrow, even as his cheeks flushed.

"My point is you've always been nice to everyone." he told him, speaking as if this were a commonly known fact. His grin faded just as quickly as it appeared which was almost as tragic as his conclusion. "You're even nice to people who aren't your friends…"

Stiles knew exactly what the other boy was alluding to now. "Not everyone," he denied, quickly trying to think of a way to mend the situation. He grinned slowly when the answer came to him. _Oh, mine is an evil grin…_ "You totally just ruined your argument, by the way. In fact, you proved me right."

Isaac frowned at him. "What?"

"Your whole argument is moot," he informed him, only just a little smug. "Do you really think I would let just anyone live with me? Because so far the only person who has been invited to enjoy some fine Stilinski hospitality is… you, dude. Just you."

Isaac seemed at a loss of how to answer that.

"First thing to know about being my _friend_ ," Stiles said firmly, enunciating on the word so there would be no confusion or doubt this time. "Resistance is futile. Never try to argue with me, my man, 'cause chances are, you're gonna lose spectacularly."

"… I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that." Stiles squeezed his wrist gently before releasing him. "Now go fetch me my crackers. Heh, _fetch_." He bumped him with his elbow. "Get it, dude? Did you get it?"

Isaac rolled his eyes indulgently and stood back up. "Yes, I got it," he said, hurrying toward the kitchen. He paused just in the doorway, glancing back again with those damnable earnest eyes that made him look utterly adorable. " _Just_ the crackers? Are you _sure_ you don't want them with some cheese too?"

"Oh my God, just bring me whatever you want!" Stiles said in exasperation, only realizing what just happened when the boy smirked at him. He narrowed his eyes back. "Well played, you conniving little pup. Well played."

Isaac just saluted and continued into the kitchen.

"I hope you know this means war!"

Isaac replied by shaking the box of crackers loudly.

Stiles had a feeling that living with the werewolf would prove to be more interesting than he initially thought it would. He smiled to himself and carefully eased back down onto the makeshift bed. He made himself comfortable, idly reaching for the remote so he could turn the volume up to watch the reruns playing on the screen.

A few minutes later Isaac returned with a whole plate full of snack items. He set them down on the coffee table just within reach and resumed his seat on the floor, once again brushing against him with every slight movement, though this time just the arm. It still tickled though, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snickering at the sensation.

Stiles stubbornly only snatched up a few crackers at first. He caved after the first bite and selected a slice of cheese and a thin piece of ham to make himself a small sandwich. His appetite was still nonexistent, but considering he had been on a diet of unappealing hospital food for the past few days, he thought the cracker sandwich would be mild enough to see if he could even hold down the pizza his father was so intent on eating.

The moment Stiles bit into the makeshift sandwich, he felt the fine hairs brush against him again. He rolled his eyes; the back of Isaac's head looked entirely too smug, and he couldn't refrain from commenting.

"You _could_ just sit in the recliner, you know?"

Isaac never even glanced back at him. "It smells like your father."

"And? He isn't here right now."

"… It belongs to him," he hedged.

"Right. Because no one else ever sits there," Stiles snorted with ample sarcasm. "Dude, we just went through this. You're never gonna be able to bullshit the master of bullshit completely. Come on, just tell me."

Isaac fidgeted briefly before finally giving in. "I need to sit by you."

"Oh…" Stiles frowned at him. "Is your spidey sense tingling? Should I be worried of an impending attack of the killer reptile?"

"No, nothing like that," Isaac sighed, leaning enough that the back of his neck briefly pressed against Stiles' forearm. "It is a little hard to explain."

Stiles blinked in understanding. "Okay. So this is a wolf thing then," He knew he was right by the subtle stiffening of the shoulders in front of him. "This is kind of like how Scott did everything short of peeing on me last night, isn't it?"

Isaac made a noise in the back of his throat and finally turned around. "You noticed that too?" he asked, eyes crinkling with mirth. "I could smell it before I came into the house earlier."

"As if you have any room to talk," Stiles pointed out. "Don't think I haven't noticed you're doing the same thing."

Isaac faltered, his cheeks tinged red. "You smell…"

Stiles nodded empathetically, butting in when the other boy struggled to find words. "I smell revolting, especially to your delicate noses. I know, dude, you don't have to tell me because I can _feel_ it. This is a result of not showering properly since I was hospitalized."

"No," Isaac refuted, shaking his head. "It's not that… you just smell _wrong._ Like other people… people not _pack._ It's irritating." he admitted. "It kind of makes me want to pin you down and rub myself all over you just to get rid of their scents." He flushed immediately after speaking, groaning and turning away with humiliation written across his face.

Stiles understood his embarrassment. He felt rather flustered by the comment himself, although probably for a different reason. He might of have only just recently come to terms with his own ambiguous sexuality, but there had to be something in the wolf kibble they all ate because every werewolf he knew was unfairly attractive.

Isaac was certainly among the top three in that category. He had a certain boyish charm to him with his shy smiles and uncertain blue eyes, but there was something undeniably appealing about his long limbs and newfound confidence. He was… kind of hot.

Stiles flushed just thinking it, but he could not deny it was true. His new friend had already been moved into the same section as Scott, though. That alone meant that thinking of Isaac in those terms was practically incestuous; as in never going to happen. His reaction was not so much by picturing Isaac pin him down as much as it was about the act itself.

Just the thought of being pinned down by any one of them made his palms sweaty, but the image Isaac painted made his heart race for reasons he would rather explore when _not_ surrounded by people who could smell any change in his body chemistry. However it all did pique his interest a bit too much to leave it alone and Stiles couldn't help himself.

"Do all of you feel that way?"

Isaac scratched the back of his neck and stared resolutely ahead.

"Erica?" Stiles queried persistently. "Boyd? Do they want to ravish me too?" He waited and was rather disappointed at the lack of response. He would have accepted even a slight nod or shake of the head in answer, but that did not deter him from asking the ultimate question. "What about Derek? Does he want to pin me down and rub himself all over me?"

Isaac seized suddenly and snapped his head toward the front door. His face first flashed with relief, which quickly morphed into confusion. He then crumpled in mortification and something akin to dismay, sinking in place and dropping his face into one hand with an audible sound.

Stiles had no time to question the bizarre reaction before he heard a soft jingle from outside and the front door swung open a moment later. He turned in time to see his father walk in, a small plastic bag in one hand and the other oddly vacant for a man who had gone out to retrieve his coveted pies of grease.

"Hey Da—" Stiles suddenly saw someone else enter not a second later, his mouth catching on faster than his brain did; his greeting caught halfway. "—erek?" He was not entirely sure what he was seeing as Derek Hale, in all of his usual leather and dark washed denim clad glory, stepped through the front door burdened with two boxes of pizza.

For a long moment Stiles could only stare. He had seen the other man in his house so many times recently that it was a commonplace. He came to expect it, actually, on frequent occasions. Although, certainly not when his father was present or aware of the fact that the twice accused though exonerated murder was here.

Derek seemed composed enough despite the sudden awkwardness in the room, looking as confident and brooding as ever. There was something in his eyes that seemed off, though, perhaps a bit hesitant even. He stood there in the threshold the entire time it took Stiles to register that this was not some sort of elaborate hallucination.

"… I'm not even going to ask why that sounds familiar."

Stiles flinched at the wary tone coming from his father. He quickly turned to look at him, not sure how to feel without seeing his face; he hoped for some clues as to what was happening, but the man was already walking away and into the kitchen without another word. He shuddered as he sat back up, biting down on his lip when he returned his gaze to the alpha werewolf in his living room.

"What's going on?" he asked cautiously, certain he would not like where this was going. Several horrible scenarios filled his mind as questions plagued his thoughts. He needed to know what happened, because something totally happened. Something _had_ to have happened. Why else would Derek Hale be here otherwise?

Derek ignored him momentarily in favor of giving his beta a sharp look.

The younger wolf hasted to stand at the unspoken order, retrieving the boxes and quickly retreating from the room, leaving the two of them alone. Stiles had no idea what to make of it; his heart pounding something fierce within the confines of his chest and he bit down hard on his lip with worry.

Derek approached slowly, moving closer until he was a mere foot away from the couch. He stared down at him with a strange look, one that was undecipherable. "Your father knows…"

Stiles drew in a sharp, uncomprehending breath. "What…?"

Derek continued speaking, possibly trying to explain what he meant, but the sound was muffled into something unrecognizable. Stiles could hear nothing beyond those three terrifying words. He father knows. _Oh God._ His father _knows._ What did he know? What did Derek tell him? _How_ could Derek tell him?"

Not wanting to believe it, Stiles shook his head quickly in denial. He felt betrayed. He thought Derek understood that he wanted to keep his father out of this. He _needed_ to keep him away from all of this. Because even just _knowing_ placed him in so much danger, and Stiles needed him to stay alive. He needed him.

Stiles felt his hands tremble and curled them around his thighs to keep them steady. "Why would you…?" His throat felt too constricted and he couldn't even muster the breath to finish his question. He shivered, the air around him suddenly feeling a lot cooler even as beads of sweat gathered at his temples.

Stiles missed his father terribly. He really did. He missed talking to him so bad sometimes it made him want to break down and confess everything. But now that his father knew, he would try to interfere. His shaking increased steadily at the realization. To protect him, his father would consciously place himself in the path of rabid werewolves and vicious snakes.

Vision just beginning to cloud, abruptly warmth flooded his veins and chased away the overwhelming cold. He could feel it again, the same presence that nearly knocked him off his before. It felt like a lifetime ago, though in reality it could not have been more than a few hours. It wrapped around him like a shield from within, cocooning him in a protective embrace that made his skin feel impenetrable.

It was nothing like before. This time, there was nothing sexual or arousing about it, but everything was no less intense. He could hear his own heartbeat, pounding loud in clear in his ears like some frantic beat of a drum. He can hear another one, softer than his own, perhaps a bit swiftly but not as desperate.

The sound is melodic and his own gradually began as he listened to it, almost to the point where it matched. Stiles inhaled slowly, feeling suddenly calm and lethargic as he reveled in the feeling. He becomes aware of the impossibly warm hand resting on the side of his neck, of the voice speaking to him in calming tones, but all of it is distant.

All too soon reality returned and the presence retreated.

Stiles desperately wanted to protest as it began to fade, to cling to it if only to find out _what_ it is exactly. The feeling dissipated too quickly though, returning to the dark recesses of his mind where it is nothing more than a faint memory and he cannot deny feeling more alone than ever once his senses return.

"Just breathe."

Derek never sounded like a dangerous werewolf. Even in the beginning when they first met, there was never a dark quality to it that seemed as threatening as his demeanor. His voice has always been soft… gentle almost; a smooth timber which was a nice contrast from his seemingly menacing exterior.

Stiles obeyed him without even thinking and focused on just breathing. He inhaled deeply, holding the breath for a moment, and then he released it. He shuddered unintentionally when he felt the hand on his neck move without warning, a coarse padded thumb drawing a small circle just under where his jawline met his ear.

Finally coherent enough to pry his eyes open, Stiles found hazel eyes staring back at him with a carefully guarded expression. He felt dizzy and unnerved, unable to think of anything to say. He could not bring himself to feel ashamed or embarrassed that Derek Hale had seen him so vulnerable once again, because he was just so damn grateful that he had someone helping him through his panic.

"You're okay." Derek said softly, his tone questioning.

Stiles nodded slowly, the tightness in his belly easing.

"… You misunderstood me," the older man continued, elaborating without prompt. "Your father confronted me earlier outside of the post office. He knows nothing about…" His head tiled backward, glancing at the kitchen with pursed lips. His eyes flash red, concluding in a way that could not be overheard and his meaning is clear.

"Oh…" Stiles breathed out, suddenly feeling exhausted with relief.

Derek nodded slowly. "Someone told him about how I was driving you to school and he looked into it. He has images of us together, Stiles." he told him, watching his reaction carefully before continuing. "Pictures of us having breakfast at the diner and us shopping together… of me running you to the emergency room after the attack."

Stiles winced and swore under his breath. "How did he get those?"

"It looked like he got them off of security footage."

"… What did you tell him?" Stiles could probably come up with a plausible explanation, but he needed to know what his father already knew first. "I mean… if not about the…" He bared his own teeth and curled his fingers into hook shapes to resemble claws, giving a small snarl. "What? That you're my… history tutor or something?"

Derek gave him an amused look and said, "I told him we were friends."

Stiles felt his breath catch at the words.

Not long ago Derek insisted that they did not trust each other and now he was proclaiming them to be friends. He had no idea if Derek meant them or if he had only offered them as an explanation to appease his father, but he suddenly knew how Isaac must have felt at his own earlier admission of the same thing.

"... I also might have alluded that we may or may not be involved."

Stiles gave him a curious look. "Involved?" he repeated uncertainly. He was unexpectedly struck silent by the oddly flustered look he received in return.

"… Your father seemed to think that the attack was a hate crime," Derek told him, his mouth tightening a bit with remembrance. "As in... they saw us _together_ and that is why you were hurt." His eye twitched a second later and he sighed. "I might have encouraged that idea with my reply when he asked me about it."

Stiles bit down on his bottom lip unsurely. "… Why would you do that?" he asked, unintentionally quiet. He could not fathom _why_ his father would ever even think that.

He may have… _came out_ in a way, but why on earth would the man even think that someone like Derek Hale would be interested in someone as awkward and average as him? It made no sense. However the fact that Derek himself fortified the notion was nothing short of baffling.

Derek caught his eyes and released a shallow breath. "I…"

"Son, do you want supreme or cheese?"

Stiles reluctantly tore his own eyes away from the peculiarly penetrating gaze to look where his father stood expectantly. He really wished he knew what they said to each other word for word. Second hand accounts were always paraphrased and lacking details, which meant they were up for interpretation.

"Cheese?" he asked hopefully, not sure he could stomach the other.

"As usual," His father smiled at him, and then his eyes drifted lower. His expression tightened, green eyes harder and accusing, smile just a tad too forced to be real. He looked between the two of them, something equally resigned and frustrated about his countenance. He cleared his throat pointedly.

Derek himself froze like a dog being caught doing something naughty. His reaction would have been comical if not for the fact that Stiles abruptly became aware of the fact that the older man was kneeling in front of him, the heat of his hand still against his neck as his thumb suddenly stilled just behind his ear.

"Hale," his father said flatly. "Why don't you join me in the kitchen."

Derek snatched his hand back and his eyes seemed a bit wider. "Yes sir," he said agreeably, rising to full height.

Stiles stared after the odd duo with disbelief. "Did that just happen?" he wondered out loud. That was officially the most bizarre occurrence _ever_. He snorted when he realized that Derek Hale was nervous around his father. A week ago, he would have thought nothing ever fazed the mighty alpha wolf, but now he had seen it with his own eyes.

Everyone returned to the living room a few minutes later, arms loaded with platefuls of pizza and cups of carbonated goodness. They all seemed to be in accord of the fact that Stiles was not allowed to move unless it was to shuffle toward the bathroom, so apparently that meant they would be eating here instead.

Stiles accepted his own food and drink, watching curiously as everyone seemed to hash out the seating arrangements wordlessly. His father immediately sat in the recliner that Isaac had refused earlier. He had three slices on his plate and a challenging look on his face as he pulled the lever to prop his feet up.

Isaac slunk back down to his spot on the floor after a brief hesitation, his elbow knocking into Stiles when he adjusted himself into a more comfortable position. Derek looked extremely uncomfortable as he took the vacant seat on the couch, and Stiles was aching to know what had been said in the kitchen because Isaac looked a bit too disturbed and Derek just looked… tetchy.

Stiles observed them both curiously when neither ate right away. His research into pack dynamics of made him curious to see how they would act. He knew that wolves were less about ferocity and more about order, which meant that there was an order to everything, including how they ate. Traditionally it was the alpha that ate first, followed by the rest in the hierarchy strongest to weakest.

On their recent trips to the diner, Stiles usually allowed Derek to take the first bite before he began eating his own meal. He thought it was respectful, because thought that the pack mentality of werewolves closely emulated actual wolves. Everything he and Derek talked about even seemed to confirm it.

Neither did anything though. In fact they seemed to be waiting for something.

Stiles frowned in confusion and absently nibbled on his own pizza while trying to make sense of it. It was like some nonverbal queue which triggered a domino effect. Derek immediately took a large bite out of his own slice without delay, which obviously granted Isaac permission to eat as well. They continued on without pause, eating their fill while watching the television which was now playing sports instead.

 _Oh_ , he thought. They had been waiting on _him._ It was a bit of surprise, actually. Did that mean they thought of him as a member of the pack? He would have to try and muster the courage to ask that particular question at a later date. Perhaps even when he was under the influence of his pain medication so they couldn't hold him to anything?

Dinner continued on without any arguments or awkward conversations. It was actually nice. They all just sat there watching the game. His father retreated at one point to get one last slice of pizza, and the man better savor it because once Stiles felt well enough to cook again, he was going to force going to make him regret indulging.

Stiles managed to eat a whole slice without any cajoling by the two wolves that had taken up residence around him, but that was all he could manage. His side ached the longer he sat upright and he finally pushed his plate aside and grabbed his medication. He may have hated how it made him feel, but he would rather take them than suffer.

As suspected, only ten minutes had passed after swallowing the tiny round pill before he began feeling tired. He yawned and sank into the cushions of the couch. He blinked when he felt the hand at his arm, and when he looked to his right, he saw that Derek had already stood and was straightening out the bed.

"This is so weird," he admitted, shaking his head. He relaxed back down once it was all settled and snuggled beneath the covers.

"Do you need anything, son?" his father asked, rising from the recliner with his empty dishes. He glanced at the other two when Stiles shook his head and sent him a sleepy smile. "I have work in the morning so I need to turn in early. Isaac, even though you haven't been officially moved in yet, you are welcome to sleep in your room."

Isaac gave him a surprised look, but nodded. "Yes, sir,"

"Hale."

"Sheriff."

"So, so weird…" Stiles repeated quietly, resting comfortably.

"Be careful when you drive home," the man told him. "The roads can be dangerous at night." He gave him a meaningful look, one that clearly said that he expected him to be gone soon. "Goodnight son, if you need anything just holler. Love you kid,"

"Night..." Stiles smiled again. "Love you too." He yawned again and blinked rapidly as his eyes watered from trying to stay awake. He found Isaac rising, looking hesitantly toward the stairs as he gathered up his own dishes. "You staying, man?"

After a shared look with his alpha, Isaac nodded. "Yeah, I'll be here."

"Cool," he said. "See you in the morning, my friend."

Isaac returned his smile before he walked away.

Once they were alone, Stiles looked at the alpha wolf himself who appeared to be making himself at home despite the implied expectancy that he should leave. "… What were you saying earlier?" he asked, unable to get the memory out of his head.

Derek made no effort to answer right away. Instead he picked up the array of books set out on the table and read the spines curiously. "Is this for the bestiary?" he asked.

Used to the act of avoidance, Stiles only sighed. "Yes," he confirmed. "I wanted to work on it today, but I… fell asleep." He gave him a sheepish smile. "Are you staying too?"

"Not for long. I have to prepare for tomorrow."

Stiles frowned up at him. "Prepare for what?"

"Nothing you need to worry about right now. Just concentrate on getting better." Derek regarded him for a moment longer. "Do you need anything before I leave?"

"… Hale."

Derek tilted his head in puzzlement. "Excuse me?"

Stiles shook his head quickly. "Nothing," he said quickly, his cheeks feeling hot as he pulled the covers up to hide the redness he knew was there. "Never mind, goodnight Derek." He rolled over onto his side and held his breath, hoping that it would be left alone.

"… Goodnight." Derek said belatedly, and Stiles heard him move toward the door. "Stiles?"

"Hmm?"

"… Does your father really know martial arts?"

Stiles grinned and pressed his cheek into the pillow. "Yeah, dude. My dad is totally Johnny Cage." he told him. He almost wished he had not turned when he heard the strangely distressed noise from behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so late. I can't even begin to apologize for how late this is :(


	16. Overwhelming Compulsion

### Overwhelming Compulsion

It was close to noon when students flooded front of the school. Some took up residence beneath some shady trees in order to eat their lunch in peace instead of in the cafeteria, however many made toward their vehicles in order to buy their lunch elsewhere instead of braving the mystery meatloaf today.

Erica stood out among the crowd as she exited the building. Her hair was pulled back today, secured in place with bright red clips, and a few loose tendrils framing her face. She wore tight, low cut white shirt that was clearly only worn to amplify her cleavage, and a black skirt that stopped high on her thighs. Needless to say, she turned heads as she made her way down the front steps, sashaying her hips.

Many eyes watched her descent and she clearly enjoyed the attention. Judging by the confident and rather satisfied smirk upon her face, she could smell the onslaught of pheromones from the abundance of pubescent teenagers watching her descent. She even glanced over her shoulder as she reached the parked car waiting for her, puckering her lips at a nearby student in a faux kiss, and then laughing under her breath as the boy turned bright red.

Erica fluttered her fingers in a wave goodbye and slid into the car. As she began to secure her seatbelt, the female wolf caught sight of the dark eyebrow raised in her direction. "What?" she asked, sliding her sunglasses up her nose and crossing her arms over her chest almost defensively.

Derek merely eyed her for a moment longer before he shook his head. "Did I say something?" he asked, reaching out to shift the car into drive. He pulled away from the sidewalk of gawking teenagers and turned out onto the main road.

Erica reclined comfortably in the passenger seat and flipped the visor down, peering at her own reflection in the small mirror. "Do you ever?" she muttered with a roll of her eyes, reaching up with a slender finger to wipe at some of her dark eyeliner where it had smudged. "It isn't like I did anything wrong."

"I never said you did."

Erica glanced at him dubiously. "You didn't have to," she said, snapping the visor closed with a huff. "You also never said where, exactly, we were going or why you wanted me to get myself out of classes for the rest of the day. I thought we were supposed to be keeping a low profile. Ditching class is kind of suspicious."

"The school received a note from your doctor, excusing you from class for an appointment," he told her, ignoring her disbelieving stare as he turned onto the highway. "You were the easiest to excuse without being conspicuous. Not that it matters, because we have to assume that Gerard has already made all of you."

"… He knows about us?" she asked, a true pang of fear in her voice.

Derek glanced at her grimly. "It is a strong possibility."

Erica shuddered slightly and turned to stare out the window. To be honest the little show she had put on outside the school was off-putting. He understood that she felt the need to flaunt her looks. She used to lack confidence and that left all of her insecurities bare for all to see and abuse. Those people had once made her feel insignificant.

Although he knew she felt powerful now whereas she used to feel weak, she was wrong to think that they were attracted to her just because of the transformation. He could remember when he first saw her and she had been a pretty girl then as well. Now she was strong and confident in her own skin, making her seem almost untouchable by all those who had hurt her in the past. Her new attitude is what drew them to her; the sooner she realized that, the better off she would be in the long run.

Eventually the quiet got to Erica and she reached over to fiddle with the radio. He did not object since it would be a somewhat long drive, but he did lower the volume because the noise interfered with his hearing. He tuned the radio station out in order to hear the reassuring heartbeat. He felt a bit nervous as they neared the city limits; he knew that once he reached a certain distance, he would be unable to hear it entirely.

It would be the first time since the incident in the pool that Derek would be unable to hear it. He wanted to use this opportunity to test just how far he could separate himself before he began to feel out of control. His grip on the wheel tightened unintentionally as the sound of it eventually began to fade and his own heart elevated in agitation when he realized he could no longer hear it.

Erica seemed to recognize the fact that they were leaving time just then. Her brown eyes darted to the sign that proclaimed _'Thank you for visiting Beacon Hills! Come again soon!_ ' before she turned to frown at him. "You still haven't said where we are going," she pointed out, her tone questioning as she threw him a thoroughly confused look.

Derek clenched his jaw as a painful throbbing began at his temples. He inhaled deeply through his nose and flexed his tense fingers while trying not to think upon the fact that the bond was tugging at his consciousness, clinging to him fiercely. He wanted to turn around right then; he probably would have if his companion had not distracted him.

"Well?" she huffed in exasperation.

"Well what?" Derek asked hoarsely, unable to keep the unsteadiness from his voice. He cleared his throat once, then again, and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She stared at him in disbelief and he suddenly recalled her question. He rubbed at his face with a weary sigh when he realized he had forgotten.

Although Derek had decided to be more candid and not withhold information from the pack any longer, old habits die hard it would seem. It had slipped his mind. An outsider would be coming into their territory and that was something that concerned the whole pack. He had been intentionally keeping the information from Stiles, but he should have told the others.

Stiles would have been too curious for his own good if he knew. He would want to meet the new alpha, regardless of his condition or how the pack would feel about it. He was still injured and practically bedridden; it was still too soon. None of them would be in good form if Stiles were present.

Everyone would be defensive and most likely rude to their guest instead of treating Logan with the respect he deserved as an alpha wolf. As it stood, they had no idea how to interact with foreign wolves, but ignorance could be forgiven whereas being offensive outright was another matter. There was nothing to be done just yet though. He only had Erica with him right now and the rest would have to wait until they returned.

"… Logan Montgomery will arrive in town tonight," he told her, wincing as the pressure in his head intensified. "He is the alpha of a pack just outside of Portland and it is customary to provide lodgings for visiting wolves. He cannot stay at the warehouse."

Erica made an odd noise and sat up straight in her seat. "We get to meet another pack?" she asked, a twinge of excitement in her voice. "How many are coming?"

Derek could understand her excitement. Their pack was relatively isolated and so the prospect of meeting others of their kind had to be particularly exhilarating. "As far as I know, it will only be Logan. He might bring his son, Max, though. Wolves never leave their cubs for long unless it is with someone they trust absolutely."

"When will they get here?"

"Sometime tonight." he answered vaguely, mainly because he was not entirely sure when the other wolf would arrive. "I assume he left around the time our conversation ended yesterday, so probably late in the afternoon or in the evening."

"So are we getting a hotel room out of town or something?"

Derek lifted an eyebrow at her. "Hotel rooms are disgusting," he said dryly. "They either reek of everyone who has ever been inside or of bleach and cleaning products. It would be very insulting to rent a hotel room for any wolf, especially the ones at that little bed and breakfast place in town."

"Then what are we doing? Going to buy a house for him?" There was a hint of sardonic humor in her voice, but her smile faded when he said nothing in reply. "We're going to _buy_ a house?" she asked incredulously.

Derek was more amused than affronted by her tone. "We are not buying a house," he told her pacifyingly. He smirked inwardly before adding, "I already own it." She gave him look of contempt and waited for an explanation. "It was used for the same purposes by my family, to house outsiders invited for whatever reason. It is in good condition and I cleaned it up and had the power and water turned on this morning, but all of the furniture is in a storage unit."

"We're picking up the furniture then?" she guessed, appeased when he nodded in confirmation. "How are we going to fit anything in your car?"

Derek had to shake his head as his vision blurred momentarily. He exhaled slowly and tried not to close his eyes. He was unused to feeling prolonged pain. His separation from Kate had not been near this bad and he was almost positive they had been on opposite ends of the continent. He always theorized that it was because of her treachery that he could remain so far apart from her, but as the pain in his head grew he had to reconsider.

"Derek?" Erica prompted, but the sound of her voice sounded gratingly loud on his sensitive ears and his whole body flinched in response. She gasped slightly as the car jerked along with him, veering off to the side of the rode for a brief second before he righted it.

"What?" he demanded harshly.

Erica regarded him coolly, though her eyes held a bit of concern. "Your eyes are red," she noted quietly, taking a moment to observe him more closely. "You're sweating and you look like shit." She said bluntly. "You should probably pull the car over."

Derek curled his lip in a silent snarl. "Erica."

Erica shivered at his tone and hesitated. She bit down on her lip and slowly shook her head, her features tightening with resolve. "Something is obviously wrong…" she said softly, looking both fearful and determined. "The other day… in the woods—"

"Enough."

Flinching slightly at the growl, Erica pressed on. "That was not normal anger. You were destroying everything in your path without hesitation. It was… terrifying," she confessed, leaning back against the door out of reflex as he looked at her sharply. "We all know something is going on with you… we can feel it." She pressed a hand to her chest, as if rubbing some terrible ache there. "It hurts and… we really do care about you. You _can_ talk to us."

Derek was forced to tear his eyes away from her earnest face. He stared resolutely ahead for a while, wincing as short bursts of sunlight peeking through the trees sought his eyes in a relentless assault. He squinted against it with a glare.

"Pull the car over." Erica said again, her voice strong despite her obvious nerves.

Derek decided to heed her words as the anger fled, because without the emotion to distract him, he only felt agonized and hollow. He pulled over to the edge, right beside the tree line and forced his hands open before he crushed his steering wheel. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to whimper as sharp pin-like sensations rippled through his mind.

"How can I help?" she asked worriedly, her hand reaching for him though hesitated just above his arm. He shook his head; she could not help. He had pushed it too far and was being stretched too thin now. It hurt like nothing he had ever felt and they had barely made it a few miles out of town.

Shaking his head again, Derek blindly reached for the seatbelt release. His chest felt constricted, making it difficult to breathe and his heart... his heart ached like a vice gripping it, steadily adding pressure until it felt ready to burst. He had to get out of the car; he couldn't breathe in here and the air outside was crisp and inviting.

Derek spilled outside the moment he managed to pry the door open, falling to his knees upon the cool asphalt. He stared down at each microscopic aggregate particle, breathing in the sharp tang of burnt rubber and the faintest hint of cleansing rain. He heard the other door open and footsteps approach, but could not be bothered to look.

Agony, brutal and unrelenting, throbbed mercilessly throughout his head. He released a guttural groan, head rolling forward as his vision swam. Something dark and vicious clawed at him, making his limbs tremble and burn. He feared he would fall into the depths of unconsciousness as violent streaks of red curled in his mind sharp like thorns. He had to go back now, before it was too late.

Erica crouched beside him now, murmuring something soft in his ear. He thought she might be trying to comfort him, but he could not understand anything she said. Her voice was muffled and may as well be a million miles away for all he could comprehend it. He wished she would just be quiet, actually, because the sound of her voice was only making this worse.

A wave of nausea washed over Derek then, causing him to growl and bare his teeth with frustration He clenched his teeth to keep the bile at bay, snarling miserably when the nausea only continued to fester within his belly. Every muscle in his abdomen spasmed, a cold sweat beginning to break out over his body; he felt hot… feverish.

Derek could feel every vein in his neck bulge from the strain as he seized, his muscles practically vibrating with tension. His teeth pulled at his gums, the canines feeling sharper while his claws dug into the concrete below him. He fell forward, pressing his impossibly warm face against the cool street.

Erica sounded panicked now, but all he could seem to hear was the thunderous pounding within his own head. He instinctively pushed her away without even looking, his groan of pain suddenly transforming into a snarl, this one primal and vicious and animalistic. His incisors extended, though it felt different. His whole face ached, pins and needles dancing over his skin.

Something was wrong. The transformation had never felt like this. He gnashed his fangs together as pain lanced through every nerve ending, causing him to arch his back as if it may alleviate some of the torment. He felt the bones twist and suddenly snap beneath the tension, but the noise was drowned out by the sudden scream beside him. His spine righted itself, though not quite how it should be; his vertebrae elongated and shifted, but before he could even think on that, the tension in his legs caused the bones to crack as well and he released a roar.

As the bones began to reform, Derek had a brief moment of revelation as he noticed the odd way the bones were shaped. He had an additional joint about midway between his knees and his ankles, one that caused the leg to bow inward just before his feet. He looked up at Erica and he could see his own panic and terror in the reflection of her wide pupils, watching with trepidation as all red suddenly vanished from his sight, leaving behind only tones of gray.

"Oh my God!" the young woman gasped, stumbling back away from him. She landed on her hind quarters, scrambling backwards on her hands as she stared up at him. Her own eyes glossed over a lighter shade of gray and her whole face transformed, the canine features peering up at him at the hulking form fearfully.

Derek exhaled harsh breaths of air as the world around him came together with a sudden clarity. All at once the pain stopped. The excruciating pounding in his skull eased into a familiar sound, the steady pulsing of a heart, though exponentially louder than it had been even since last night when he had been in the same room. He rose from the ground in one graceful motion, however the unnatural curve of his spine made him haunch over so he stood on all fours.

A single thought filled his mind, but he was interrupted before he could follow through.

"Oh my God," Erica breathed out again, slowly rising to her feet as if sudden movements may startle him. She trembled as the top of her head barely reach his chest, even with him hovering low to the ground. "D-Derek?" he turned in time to see her swallow her nerves and step forward.

Derek snorted in confirmation, watching as her features faded into something more human. He sniffed at her cautiously raised hand, tongue lolling out to swipe once at the digits. She laughed breathlessly, the last traces of fear receding and now replaced with elation. She exhaled a slow breath and took in the sight of him

"You look…" she faltered, apparently at a loss for words.

The reflection of himself he had seen in her eyes had given him somewhat of an idea of what he looked like right now, but he wanted to see for himself. He twisted his head away from her in order to look at the window of his car. His face was inhuman, snout elongated and resembling the beast now more than ever, with thick dark fur covering every inch of him.

Derek noted that most of his strength seemed to be in his upper body, which essentially obscured the rest of him from the reflection in the glass; his shoulders were incredibly broad with thick, defines muscular arms. His hands were likewise larger, more canine, with long talons in place of nails. He had a wild mane of fur that began from the top of his flattened head to midway down his back, and his eyes appeared ebony. Though considering he was colorblind right now, he could not be entirely sure.

Most importantly out of every detail he noted, Derek recognized that he was in complete control. His mind was clear and his thoughts unclouded by worry or doubt, although completely fixated on going back into town. He felt grounded and aware, more so than he ever had since he became the alpha. His senses did not feel amplified, but he certainly felt more in tuned with them than before. He absently wondered if that was something that would stay once he transformed back.

Derek was an actual werewolf; the partial, humanoid hybrid transformations of the past seemed insignificant compared to this experience. He was uncertain why he had shifted like this though. He recalled something his father once said, about how each transformation is different.

Sometimes the shape a person takes reflects the type of person they are. What did that make him? He thought he resembled what Peter had turned into, though he was not sure he favored the comparison.

Derek had a sudden despairing thought. How was he going to transform _back_? He had done this much involuntarily, with no control whatsoever. He attempted it as he normally would, the stirrings of frustration engulfing him when he remained the same. He thought about the smooth transition from human to something bestial and then back again, visualizing it in his mind in another attempt.

Nothing happened.

Derek growled slammed one massive paw to the ground. He was startled when the concrete shattered easily beneath the force, a long crack forming across the whole street. He winced sheepishly, glancing over to Erica who stood amused at the sight though clearly trying to hide it.

"Don't know your own strength?" she asked slyly, mirth in her eyes. She laughed outright when he turned away from her with another growl. "Hey!" she cried out when he kept walking. "Where are you going?" She pursed her lips when he gave her a frustrated snort. "Wolf got your tongue?"

Derek swiveled his head around a snapped his jaws together in reprimand. Nothing about this situation was humorous; he was stuck and unable to communicate. Or… he could communicate. He turned around more fully and studied Erica contemplatively until she actually began to fidget beneath the scrutiny.

Erica released an ear splitting shriek when he suddenly pounced on the ground in front of her and roared into her face, watching in amusement as she fell onto her backside once more. She stared up at him indigently and he tilted his head. "What was that for?"

Somewhat deflated that it had not worked, he roared once more undeterred, thinking back to that moment earlier when she had slipped into the car. He visualized the highway they had driven down and then the warehouse. He sat back on his heels once done and regarded her curiously once more, waiting for any kind of response.

Erica gaped at him, her mouth clicking shut as she rose onto her elbows. "Did you just…?" she queried uncertainly, her eyes somewhat unfocused but they were glowing once again. "I just saw…" She shook her head clear. "You want me to drive the car back to the warehouse?"

Derek sighed gratefully in relief and inclined his colossal head.

"Oh God, if Stiles finds out you can do that," She shook her head again and rose to her feet. "I can already hear all of the Lassie references. ' _What's that Derek? Scotty is in the well? Let's go find him boy!_ " She snickered to herself.

Eye twitching with irritation, Derek bared his teeth in warning and released glared at her unimpressed. She sighed as she dusted herself off, giving him a small pout though ultimately acquiesced without complaint. She moved toward the car and got in, rolling down the window momentarily as she started the engine.

"What about the furniture?" she asked curiously.

 _Damn._ He had forgotten about that.

Considering his current state, he would be unable to get the rental truck he reserved for today, let alone load furniture into it. It needed to be done though, soon rather than later because there was always the possibility that Logan would arrive early. He sighed inwardly and tried to think about the moving tuck, the security code he had written down on a piece of paper in the center console, the key stored in the glove box, and finally the actual house located east of the preserve in town.

Erica twitched abruptly with a soft a soft gasp and closed her eyes. She sighed a second later and popped open the console, retrieving the code for the storage facility. "I'll get ahold of the guys to get the truck and the furniture. They should be able to go after school. Since I'm out of class all day, I could head to the store? Maybe get some things for the house?"

Derek gave her a skeptical look, though relented when he thought about it. He looked down to the ground, locating his shredded clothing and snuffled at his pants until he retrieved his wallet. He was very glad he had forgone his favorite jacket today; otherwise it would have been destroyed like the rest of his clothes. He dropped the wallet in her hand and finally backed away from the car.

Erica seemed to understand without having to be told this time. "See you at home, alpha," she told him, turning the car around and heading back toward the town. He watched her go until the vehicle was out of sight before slipping between the trees beside the road. He moved alongside it, slowly making his own way back with a single destination in mind.

Walking proved to be a bit challenging at first. He stumbled over his own feet occasionally and the enormous talons extending from his paws did not help at all, but he managed to fall into a smooth gait eventually. He moved more quickly after that, paws pounding upon the dampened ground as he broke into a run.

 _Stiles…_ He needed to get to Stiles.

The overwhelming compulsion drove him to run more swiftly and he soon cleared the trees and burst directly out into the open. He had enough sense to avoid being seen; it was midday and very few people were out, but he still needed to be careful. He leaped on top of a large industrial building, making his way from rooftop to rooftop.

Finally reaching the opposite side of the town, Derek was just about to duck back into the woods again when something plowed into his side and knocked him off of the roof he was on. He plummeted to the ground, crashing hard into a set of wooden stairs that crumbled beneath his considerable weight.

Derek grunted as he rose back onto his paws, licking his teeth when he tasted blood. He must have bit his tongue when he had fallen, but it seemed to have already healed. He warily scanned the area, initially suspecting the kanima had finally made another move against him, but a quick scenting of the air confirmed it was a wolf.

A female wolf, one that smelled a bit familiar, but it was not Erica.

Derek bristled as he sought the outsider, listening until he heard the swift pattering of her heart in the shadows between two buildings as she obviously prepared for another attack. He was not certain who she was. His only guess would be the female from the Montgomery pack, but he had no idea why she would attack him. He would not hesitate to defend himself if she came at him again though and she would not catch him off guard this time.

Predictably the female wolf jumped out at him from her hiding place, but he was swift to dodge her assault with a threatening growl of his own. She was physically smaller than him and not just by a small margin; his mass towered over her form as she darted forward, mouth pulled back as she snapped her teeth. Her form resembled that of an actual wolf, much like his sister before her death.

Laura had been able to transform into a real wolf since she was eighteen. She was always a bit of a free spirit. One full moon she had simply broke into a run and while jumping over a fallen log her whole body shifted all at once and that was that. She never seemed to have difficulty shifting back.

This wolf was smaller than his sister had been, but what she lacked physically she made up with speed. She circled around him once before darting forward, managing to wrap her teen around his left ankle. He growled and swatted her away with one arm, sending her flying through the air and into the side of a building.

The wolf yelped and struggled to stand, but despite her speed, she was not quick enough to move away before he reached her. He closed his teeth around her vulnerable neck, just barely applying pressure, but enough to let his intent be known. Her eyes met his with obvious defeat and she turned away from him.

Derek was apprehensive to release her, but he had no other choice. He could either stand here all night with her dangling from his maw or he could try and figure out who she was. She immediately began to shift the moment he dropped her none too gently to the ground. Her features morphed into a heart shaped face, her hair fashioned into a wild bob of light colored hair. He recognized her after several moments.

Theia Ellerman.

"Get off of me!" she commanded evenly, looking ready to fight him again should he disobey. He snorted in her face, but went ahead and lifted himself away from her. She stood to her full height and crossed her arms, looking as dignified as anyone could being entirely nude with bruised ribs. "You have a lot of nerve, Hale."

Derek raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her. He could not recall much about the girl. He could only vaguely remember a teenager with light blond hair and he knew she was related to Logan somehow, but if anything, that should make them allies. She had no reason to attack him.

"You should have left him alone," Theia said with contempt, scowling at him. She eyed him impatiently, looking more an more frustrated as the minutes passed. "Well? I wanted to settle this the easy way, but apparently you want to talk. So let's have at it."

Fighting was the easy way? With another incredulous snort, Derek turned from her and began walking away. He still felt the single minded need to get to Stiles and she had submitted so she was no longer a threat. He would deal with her later. He moved through an alley way and into the brush, walking along the residential properties until he eventually found the backyard he was looking for.

Theia caught up with him a second later, looking rather indigent at being ignored. "You walked away from me," she said crossly, but she jumped back light a frightened cat when he bared his teeth at her in warning. "Has anyone ever told you that you are rude?"

Derek ignored her and bound over the fence in one easy leap, however the moment his paws hit the grass the whole ground vibrated with tremors. He flattened his hears back as something crashed in the next yard, sounding as if it shattered, though thankfully nothing here had broken. He could not sense the sheriff anywhere, but he heard shuffling with the house as he approached it.

"Will you stop—" Theia landed beside him, but their attention snapped toward the door as it was forcibly swung open by his beta.

Isaac drew in a sharp breath at the sight of him. His face held no recognition at all and his heart pounded with fear, but he did not run. He stood his ground and began to shift himself, dropping into a somewhat defensive position as if to attack. He seemed confused by the female beside him as well, his face turning red as he noticed her state of undress, but her presence unsettled him enough that he overlooked his own instincts to realize who stood before him.

Theia rolled her eyes dismissively. "Well aren't you cute," she said, turning back to Derek and placing her hands on her hips. "Can you at least turn back so we can have an actual conversation? I would like to discuss this with you _before_ my cousin arrives."

"Dude," a tired voice began from within the house, a shadow shuffling up behind Isaac at the threshold of the door. "Was that an earthquake?" He blinked sleep from his eyes briefly before peering over the should obstructing his view. He took a half step back the moment he set eyes upon Derek, the glazed look in his eyes fading.

Derek responded with a step forward, a whine wanting to make its way up from the back of his throat. He growled in warning when Isaac attempted to push the boy back inside the house, but Stiles paused and stared at him with a critical eye. Assessing the threat and possibly searching for weaknesses, and yet when their eyes met, his face transformed into disbelief.

"No freaking way," he breathed out, trying to move passed Isaac to get a closer look, but the other wolf held him back. "Derek?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually meant to be posted yesterday, but my cousin decided to pay me a surprise visit and I couldn't just tell her to go away because she was cutting into my writing time... at least, not out loud ;p


	17. Enlightening Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now this girl was using his pain as ammunition against him for not saying it right? She had no right to do that, to make Derek seem so small when he was a colossus.

### Enlightening Experience

It was the eyes.

Catching sight of a colossal beast only moments after waking was far from ideal, but Stiles pushed through his sleep-addled mind quickly as apprehension filled his gut. He might have taken a step back as he tried to determine exactly what he was seeing, the move completely unconscious and entirely instinctual.

A strong, muscular arm extended forward as if in reply to his retreat, covering the distance in a single long stride as it came to rest upon a stepping stone in the grass. It was clearly a quadrupedal creature, the spine held almost parallel to the ground as it moved gracefully on all fours; the posture was perhaps reminiscent of the wolf it resembled, with a descending ribcage and a sloped back.

It had thick, powerful thighs which bulged as it sat back a bit, not quite sitting upon its haunches, but not quite ready to pounce either. The torso was long and lithe, the abdomen pulled in almost a humanoid way, but the neck was heavily muscled, dark fur spanning from the head down the length of its back; a bushy tail swept the ground beneath it in a wide arc.

The head was proportionate to the massive animal, a wide forehead adorned with triangular ears, strong jaws set with a maw of dangerous teeth, and a short, blunt muzzle with a shiny black nose all making the beast seem dangerous and even menacing. This creature was capable of causing so much damage, but the eyes…

Stiles knew those eyes.

"No freaking way," he murmured to himself, struck by the sudden burst of recognition and familiarity surging through him when he met that dark gaze. The color might not be what he was accustomed to—not a mixture of gray and green, not a vibrant, electric blue or as red as freshly spilled blood. He felt as though he would know those eyes no matter the color, just by the heavy weight behind them.

Isaac stood in his way as he attempted to move closer, wanting perhaps a better inspection as if for some visual clue for confirmation. The other boy was adamant though, obviously not seeing what Stiles saw and using his deceptively strong limbs to gently urge Stiles even further behind him.

Stiles ducked beneath the arm, cautious enough not to step too close. He felt his shirt get snagged by his curly-haired protector, the frazzled werewolf tugging at his back insistently. He ignored it though, suddenly immobilized as those dark eyes pinned him. He felt oddly lightheaded, a slight tremor working up his spine as he fought to keep eye contact.

"Derek?"

The young man held his breath, biting down on his bottom lip as he waited for some kind of response. He did not even want to consider what would happen if he were wrong. He felt the last of his apprehension wither away when the massive head inclined, the gesture unmistakable as verification of his suspicion. He had known, he really had, but he felt gratified and relieved to have it confirmed.

Stiles shuffled forward with unbridled curiosity, the hand on his shirt unresisting as Isaac scented the air carefully and came to the same conclusion. He had wondered, of course. Back when Derek had first become the alpha, Stiles had envisioned him as the monster that hunted him through the school. He never asked about it though, not even when he had permission to ask anything he wanted to know about them. He had never been sure he would want to know the answer, if Derek could transform into a true werewolf like his uncle, because Peter was a bit of a sensitive subject with both of them.

Derek looked nothing like his uncle though, more like a graceful wolf stalking his prey than a vicious monster lumbering after it. He actually seemed more reminiscent of a beloved fictional cartoon character than anything else, although Stiles would never, _ever_ inform him of that little tidbit. He bit back a smile at the visual of this beast wearing tattered leggings and a maroon cape, bounding in to save the day.

_Tale as old as time…_

"Derek," he said with a teasing note to his voice, drawing to a stop just in front of the werewolf. "Did you piss off an evil fairy or enchantress lately?" He received a familiar glare for his words, which only served to elicit a happy smile from him. "Seriously though, man… since when can you go all Wolfman?"

"Wait," a feminine voice suddenly cut in, drawing their attention to the young woman standing in his yard. She stood tall, all long and slender limbs, and her blond hair stood up in wild disarray as she ran a frustrated hand through it. "You've never seen… is this his first time as a full wolf?"

Stiles felt the blush creeping up his neck as he averted his eyes, coming to the abrupt realization that there was a _naked woman in his yard._ "Um…" He sent panicked eyes toward the other two, jerking his head toward her in question. Unable to formulate actual words, he chanced another glance at her.

The young woman groaned miserably and stomped her foot, causing her breasts to jiggle somewhat in an admittedly fascinating way. He found himself drawn back to the memory of Lydia after her little stint in the woods, his first glimpse at a woman not in an anatomy book or on the internet. His mouth had gone dry then too, just as it did as blondie here cocked her hip and gave him a curious look after her nose twitched.

Stiles scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, gathering she must be a werewolf too considering the fact that she _smelled_ his body react to her. He may have reconciled that his attraction to men was a real thing and accepted it as something to be explored, but that didn't mean that the opposite sex had lost all appeal. He had already decided not to put a label on his sexuality. He could still appreciate a woman, especially one who looked like _that._

An angry growl rattled through him before he could utter some pathetic and completely unapologetic excuse for his reaction. The sound was loud enough to make the glass within the windowpanes quiver and his bones quake. It was akin to some kind of jet engine preparing for take-off. The growl was not just angry though; it was a warning.

Derek took a menacing step toward the blond woman, his massive body coiling as if ready to pounce as he lowered his head and bared his teeth at her. Her brown eyes widened and she gave a full body flinch, turning her head quickly in a submissive gesture that left her throat completely vulnerable; she was utterly silent as he approached.

Stiles stared on with wide eyes as the enormous maw opened, feeling uncertainty fill his belly as she trembled with pure fear. He wanted to interfere, not sure what was happening; it felt wrong though, like it was somehow his fault. He was pulled back though, Isaac curling an arm around his shoulders.

"Don't," Isaac breathed into his ear roughly, not-so-subtly rubbing against his side as he glared at the frightened woman. "Outsider… smelt like… just…" His words were full of tension and indignation, but something about them kept Stiles in place more than the arm around him did. "Just… don't."

"This is another wolf thing, isn't it?" he asked quietly, recalling their recent conversation about smelling like other people. He had found it amusing yesterday, how Isaac and the others wanted to pin him down and rub him in their scents to make him smell _right._ Now, watching Derek enclose his sharp fangs around some poor girl for looking at him sideways… he couldn't recall why it had sounded so entertaining.

Instead of answering the question, Isaac merely flexed his fingers and pulled him tighter to his side. Stiles had no choice but to wait for the moment to play out. He worried for the woman, quite fearful that she was about to get her throat ripped out, but he was helpless here. He could only watch.

For all those times Derek threatened, Stiles had never quite believed it to be a real danger. He had a healthy dose of caution and enough self-preservation not to push beyond those threats to find out for sure, but he could honestly say he never thought Derek would carry them out. But… would he now?

Stiles feared the answer to that, not certain he should be watching this. He had seen too much recently. He could still see Laura Hale staring at him from her grave, could still hear the roar Peter Hale released as flames ravaged his body… and the mechanic, Richard Sanders, begging for help right before the car lift finished its descent and crushed him. He clenched his eyes shut tight, trying to push the memories from his mind.

"Stop…" he said, but it sounded more like a plea even to his own ears.

Isaac reacted first, easing the constricted grip he had until he was only loosely holding him. "Stiles?" he asked; his voice was thick with worry as he began to pull away.

Stiles swallowed the last of his reservations and forced his eyes open. He shrugged Isaac off of him and moved before the other boy could react, his resolve strengthening when he heard the muted whimper escape the woman in front of him. Some sort of territorial werewolf display or not, he was not about to watch some girl get butchered in his own backyard by his friend.

"Derek." He spoke evenly the moment he stood directly behind him. He watched tensely as the long, sloped spine grew rigid under his gaze, waiting for a reaction; the girl cried out as the pressure around her throat suddenly increased. "Derek! Knock it off! You're hurting her."

Derek ignored him, growling aggressively as if someone were threatening to steal a fine piece of meat that had been placed before him. Stiles felt something brush against his leg and looked down, suddenly inspired when he realized what it was. He did not pause to think about the consequences; he bent at the knee and wrapped his long fingers around the swishing tail.

A deafening howl echoed throughout the neighborhood as Stiles gave the appendage a rough yank, scaring the few birds in the trees in the forest behind the house to take flight. He heard a gasp as the woman was dropped, but suddenly found himself face to face with an enraged werewolf. He watched the thin lip pull back in a snarl, viscous saliva dripping from the razor-sharp incisors.

_Oh shit._

Stiles drew in a shaky breath, watching warily as he drew even closer. He turned his head slightly as warm breath wafted over his face, something metallic and rusty assaulting his senses from where the fangs had drawn pinpricks of blood from the girl. He wanted to hold his ground, but he knew he would be too weak to fight back should the wolf be angry enough with him.

Interfering with werewolf business was most definitely a bad idea, but he stood by that decision. He knew that whatever grievance the she-wolf committed must have been bad if both Derek and Isaac had reacted the way they had, but he wasn't a werewolf and he didn't even want to understand it. They could deal with it elsewhere if it were such a bad thing—preferably when he was not around to witness it.

Stiles braced himself when he felt a hot burst of air gust across his neck. He had to remind himself that Derek had just spent the past two weeks protecting him, so hurting Stiles now would just be kind of counterproductive, no matter how provoked he was to exact revenge for the tail pulling. He sucked in a breath as a cold nose pressed against the hollow of his throat, snuffling gently along the side of his neck as a growl pulsated through the air.

Instead of a reprimanding nip or perhaps something more lethal, a course tongue abruptly swiped the length of his neck. He stiffened as a wide, clawed hand moved up to his waist, clasping him there and keeping him in place. He felt it again, this time forming a wet path from his collarbone up to the tender underside of his jaw, and it took every effort not to moan.

Perhaps the fact that he was not about to be mauled should have been more reassuring, but Stiles found his body tensing more as heat suddenly pooled in his belly as another lick was administered. He felt the hot breath trail across his neck slowly, delivering short licks on every dry patch of skin in reach, and exhaled shakily.

 _Again with the licking…_ Stiles thought dazedly, wondering idly if this was to establish scents or territory to the outsider wolf. It felt much like wet sandpaper laving across his skin, gently enough not to hurt but rough enough that he worried his whole neck would be red in moments. He more felt than heard the rumbling growl when he attempted to pull away, the grip on his waist suddenly growing snugger to the point where he was completely immobilized.

"Okay, okay…" he murmured in compliance, reaching out to steady himself. He managed to capture a handful of fur and was momentarily distracted by how soft it felt. He would have thought it would be rougher, but the texture was smooth against his skin. It felt nice and he ran his fingers through it pacifyingly.

A gentle yet insistent nudge forced Stiles to tilt his chin back, allowing the werewolf more access to his throat. He bit back a groan as Derek managed to find a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear, clenching his hands around the fur on Derek's shoulders. This was not bestiality at all; nope, not at all.

"Isaac."

The other wolf moved slowly into his peripheral vision, no longer caught in the transformation. "… I'm here, Stiles," he said, and the look on his face was void of any emotion other than anxiousness. He made no move to interfere though, keeping his distance by at least a good two yards as he shot a wary glance at the preoccupied alpha.

"Help?"

Isaac winced at the plea and slowly shook his head, shame and apology replacing the uneasiness. "I'm sorry." His inaction made his loyalties clear; he would not be standing against his alpha, not even for his new friend.

Stiles inwardly sighed, but he couldn't bring himself to be angry or disappointed at being outranked here. He could only guess how it felt to disobey someone when instincts were involved, so he was on his own here. He tore his eyes away from the defeated young wolf to concentrate on the one currently holding him hostage. He tried to push him away, planting one hand firmly on the stone-hard chest while attempting to peel a claw away from his side.

This time Stiles did get a nip on the neck in reprimand, Derek dragging the sharp edges of his teeth along the sensitive skin and then laving over it in apology. He gasped at the feel of it, urgency filling him abruptly. This needed to stop. He pushed at the massive shoulders, ignoring the warning growl it earned him.

"Let go."

This needed to stop _now_.

The harder he pushed, the tighter the grip became. He twisted and tried to escape that way, but Derek met him move for move. He winced as the tight hold on him became almost painful, tugging at the staples in his side. Why was Derek even doing this? He probably reeked of both him and Isaac already, so why continue?

"Derek," he hissed. "Let me go!"

Nothing had torn yet, but he felt trapped, suffocated even.

Stiles finally did release a moan despite his best efforts, though not for the previous reasons. He grimaced with discomfort at the sharp pain in his side, whimpering as all of the fight drained out of him. He collapsed heavily against his captor, breathing out a sigh of relief when the pressure stopped entirely. He placed a shaky hand over the wound, breathing in and out slowly until the throbbing began to abate.

A soft whine met his ears, causing him to look up. The canine features were twisted into something utterly wretched, triangular ears flattened and broad shoulders drooping ever so slightly. He met the dark eyes, noting the distress there, and figured this was about as apologetic as a menacing werewolf could look.

Stiles smiled in spite of himself, if a bit wanly. "I'm okay," he said reassuringly, voice a bit hoarse, but honest. He managed to regain his footing, reaching across his own chest to rub at the pressure in his shoulder. "Are you good?" he asked worriedly, trying to recall the last time Derek had acted so… brazen and visceral. "Or has Mister Growly taken over completely?"

Oh man, if ever a wolf could look incredulous and scowl simultaneously.

"Are you with me?" he asked on a more serious note. He may not truly comprehend everything that had just happened, but he knew enough to know that this was not how Derek usually responded. Incidents like this only proved just how difficult being the alpha was for the older man, so the last thing Stiles wanted was to make the situation worse. He would ask for explanations later, when they were alone. It was always easier to talk when they were alone…

Derek inclined his head forward in answer.

"Can you… change back?"

Before the werewolf could reply in some way, the nearly forgotten woman spoke up. "No."

Stiles chanced a wary glace at her, discovering her in the exact same place she had been dropped in a while ago. She was reclining on the grass, her position somewhat submissive even as her brown eyes seemed to assess them all. He tore his own eyes away quickly to look at Derek, unwilling to relive the previous incident of what happened when he looked at her.

"Friend of yours?" he asked curiously, somehow doubting it.

Derek snorted disdainfully, snapping his chomps together.

"Theia Ellerman," the girl interjected, playing with a blade of greening grass. "I'd say it was nice to meet you, but that would be a lie considering you almost got me killed just now."

Stiles twitched, keeping his eyes resolutely away from her. She was the one who came onto his property _naked_ ; he was a healthy teenage boy. What did she expect from him? "Stiles Stilinski, nice to meet you too," he sniped back. "Can I get you anything? Some iced tea, a sandwich… a shirt, perhaps?"

"Nah," she said. "I'm good."

Derek growled lowly, eyes boring into her as she relaxed on the ground, and Stiles suspected she was purposefully attempting to rile him up. He had no idea why she had such a death wish, but right now he could care less about her and more about what she said. He glanced at her again briefly, a frown forming on his face.

"What did you mean?"

Theia looked up at him lazily, fluttering her eyelashes. "Mean about what, puppy?"

Stiles inwardly sighed and turned to face her fully, consciously keeping his eyes above the shoulders. "Puppy jokes don't exactly apply to the human of the bunch, _Toto._ " Her eyes narrowed at him critically, but he met her gaze evenly. "What did you mean when you said my alpha couldn't change back?"

The moment the words left his mouth, Stiles could feel the questioning gaze drilling into the side of his head, but he decided to ignore it for now. He figured since they were all being so territorial over him for some reason, he could use it to his advantage in order to defuse any lingering hostility.

Erica said it all the time and it was no big deal. She claimed Derek as her alpha, verbally aligning herself to him. He figured that he was kind of an honorary pack member if only through circumstance, so he should do the same; especially since there was a strange werewolf thrown in the mix. He didn't regret saying it.

Even Scott had joined the pack now so it made sense for him to do so too, even if the others might feel differently. He honestly had no idea what they thought about him, but they were at least allied now. This was just another thing he would discuss with Derek when they were alone.

Theia sighed and pursed her lips in annoyance. "… This is his first full alpha transition, right? The way you were talking…" She studied them all for confirmation, leaning back on her elbows with a frown. "It figures. Hale will be stuck like this until the moon rises."

Stiles stared at her. "You mean tonight, right?" he asked quickly, hoping she was not insinuating that Derek would be stuck like this for another week until the full moon rose. "You mean when the moon rises _tonight?_ "

"No, I mean he'll be stuck like this until the sanguine moon in autumn," she rolled her eyes, voice laden with sarcasm. "He'll be fine in a few hours. He just needs to be near you until then. It's just like when we were young," she added seriously, as if that explained everything.

It must have, because Derek seemed to be placated by it.

"Logan can probably talk you through changing back," Theia said, her eyes hardening slightly as she glared at Derek. "He should be here within the hour because of you, after all." She pursed her lips. "You had no right to contact him, not after the damage your last phone call did."

Stiles shared a sideways glance with Isaac. "Who is Logan?"

"My cousin," Theia answered venomously. "He's my cousin and he should have never been involved in this. Why did you have to call him?" she asked angrily, rising slowly to her feet. "Do you know what you did to him four months ago? You don't just give news like that over the phone, Derek. What, were you too busy to spare a single day to tell him to his face that his mate had been murdered?"

Derek met her furious eyes, unable to defend or explain his actions.

"What about Max?" she spat out furiously. "You couldn't come tell your own nephew that his mother was gone?"

Stiles felt his breath catch as her words began to make sense. They were talking about Laura Hale. Even if he only had a small portion of the variables, he knew enough to make the connections. She had been murdered four months ago; her death was what had started this whole mess, or at least his involvement in it.

Nothing exciting had ever really happened in this town before that night. Stiles had been reading up on the history of circumcision out of pure boredom when his father got the call that two joggers found half of a body in the woods. He could remember eavesdropping as every officer in Beacon County and the State Police had all been called in to help search for the remaining half. He had thought it was thrilling then, not stopping to really consider what it meant.

Not stopping to consider that a woman had been murdered, stripped away from this world and leaving behind the people in her life to mourn. He had thought of it as a game; a scavenger hunt to find the rest of the body. She was not just some body though; she had been a real person. She left behind a brother, one that had already lost so much… and from what Stiles could gather… she also left behind a husband and a son.

Stiles knew more than most how difficult it was to lose a mother. He knew that feeling all too well. That initial disbelief he felt at the news, after having spoken to her just hours before… it had lingered for almost two weeks. He kept denying the truth and demanding to see her, but once she was in the ground he had to accept that she would never be coming back. His father was just as bad. He used to drown himself in alcohol every night to ease the pain. He still indulged in a few drinks more than Stiles would like, but he was slowly recovering.

It had been years since Moira Stilinski died, but the wounds were still fresh in both of them. They still felt the same despair from her loss. He doubted they would ever heal completely, no matter how hard they tried to. It made his heart ache to even think about the fact that he had treated Laura Hale's death as a game, when in reality it was a heartbreaking tragedy.

Stiles never really gave much thought to Laura unless it was in relation to Derek. He wished he had though. She'd had a life after the fire, one he knew nothing of. He never even knew she had a mate or a son. She had died violently four months ago and now her loved ones were probably in agony. He wondered how old her son was, how old Derek's nephew was, and why he had never been mentioned before.

A rising voice brought him out of his musings.

Theia was still spewing hateful words in righteous anger, but Stiles tuned her out in order to study the man she spat the allegations at. The ache in his chest intensified when he realized that Derek had lowered his gaze, unable to meet hers any longer. His shoulders were rounded, curling in on himself as he listened to her.

Even in this colossal form, Derek looked small and defeated by her words. In the time that Stiles had known him, Derek was angry, aggressive, secretive, and violent on occasion, but his heart always seemed to be in the right place. Even with the rest of the pack, he had taken lonely teenagers and given them something stronger than friendship.

Derek always tried, despite the fact that he was an emotional wreck himself. He hid it well, but he had lost his sister. He lost her and it wounded him so deeply that it left scars visible in the depths of his eyes. He must have been in so much pain back when it first happened, to have his one constant ripped from his arms.

It was a wonder how he had even managed to let others know of her passing in that state, let alone with everything that had been going on. And now this girl was using his pain as ammunition against him for not saying it right? She had no right to do that, to make Derek seem so small when he was a colossus. She had no right to berate him for losing one of his last familial ties, one of the last of his pack.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her and straightened his shoulders.

"—and then you have the nerve to call out of the blue and suddenly he just takes off without a word?" Theia continued hatefully. "I know all about your little war with the hunters here. Do you really think we didn't know the _Argents_ were in town? If you think for one minute that I'm going to let you get my family involved in this—"

Stiles reached out and brushed his fingers along the soft fur soothingly. "I want you to leave now," he said loudly, cutting off whatever she may have been planning to say next. He breathed out slowly when he felt some of the tension drain out of the massive wolf as he entangled his fingers in the fur.

Theia swiveled her head around in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"It really was an enlightening experience." He smiled at her tightly, eyes drifting just beyond where she stood to the greenhouse in the corner of the yard. He wondered if she could smell it in there or if something about it desensitized werewolves. "Always nice to meet another wolf, but I'm afraid you've overstayed your welcome. Please see yourself out."

Theia raised a golden eyebrow at him. "Is he serious?" she scoffed, giving the other two a curious look.

Isaac sidled up beside him, crossing his arms over his chest. He may not have looked like a very impressive adversary considering how tall and lanky he was, but it was always the quiet ones people needed to look out for. He had very strong protective instincts, judging just from their few conversations, and he was fast.

"I take it you kept the wolfsbane?" Isaac mused aloud, following his line of sight with a quirk of his lips.

Theia faltered in surprise, glancing behind her warily. "Wolfsbane?" she cringed at the mere thought of it, shaking her head after a moment. "No. You're bluffing. It's poisonous to you too."

"Human here," Stiles interjected with a thin smile. "Remember? It would only be poisonous to me if I ingested large quantities of it. For someone like you… all it would take is a simple inhalation of it."

"… Are you seriously going to let him threaten me with wolfsbane?" she asked sharply. Though the question was directed toward the other two, she kept her eyes solely on him. "You would let him poison a fellow wolf?"

Isaac nodded once, slow and deliberate. "You are an outsider," he said evenly, a hint of a growl seeping into his voice. "Stiles is pack."

Derek growled lightly in agreement. He leaned his considerable weight against Stiles until Isaac was the only thing keeping him from toppling over.

Sandwiched between the two wolves, Stiles felt his smile turn genuine despite his best efforts. He had always felt a bit uncertain of his place among them. They were allies and they protected one another, but he always thought they viewed it as an obligation because he and Scott were a bit of a package deal. It felt nice to be wrong for change.

Theia observed all three of them silently.

There was a calculating gleam in her eyes as she darted her gaze from one to the other and she slowly shook her head. "Alright then," she said, shrugging her shoulders as a grudging smile appeared on her lips. "I'll leave." She grimaced a second later. "I better go intercept my cousin before he gets too close. Hale here might go berserk with a rival alpha nearby while he's like this. See you tonight at moonrise."

Stiles nodded in apprehension, not too keen on a meeting like that either. He watched her turn heel and leap over the fence, a bit fascinated when her whole body seemed to shudder mid-jump. He only caught a glimpse of her spine lengthening into a golden tail before she disappeared from sight.

"Well…" He sighed. "That was interesting."

Isaac turned with a grin, though it faded into a look of concern. "You look pale," he said worriedly, sharing a frown with the giant wolf beside them. "You are supposed to be resting. You should have stayed in bed! Why did you come outside?"

Stiles could only stare at him in bemusement. "It felt like the house was about to fall down around me. What did you expect for me to do? Sleep through it?"

"You wouldn't have even woken up if you would just take your medication," Isaac said insistently, glancing at Derek for support. "He keeps saying that he doesn't need it, but he can barely sleep without it."

"Tattletale," Stiles muttered accusingly, rolling his eyes. "How about I go lay back down okay?" He was the farthest thing away from sleep right now after that ordeal, but he felt sore and strained after the bear hug he'd received earlier. "I'll even let you feed me."

Isaac perked up at that idea instantly. He looked so pleased with himself that Stiles could actually envision a tail wagging behind him. "What do you want? There is some leftover pizza or I could—"

Stiles waved him off. "Pizza is fine. Go ahead," he added when the other seemed to hesitate. "Derek will help me back to the couch." He enforced the notion by leaning more against Derek and smiling. "Won't you, big guy?"

Derek huffed in affirmation, which was apparently enough to reassure Isaac. He nodded and retreated back into the house, leaving the two of them alone. There was no need for words after that; both of them shuffled toward the door, Stiles relying on Derek as if he were a crutch.

Everything seemed to be easier when it was just the two of them. Any lingering tension simply drained out of him with every step they took, Stiles loosely fisting a handful of soft fur in his hand when his side gave a painful twinge. He pressed his other hand to the wound and released a shaky breath.

A low keening noise met the action.

Stiles tried to give him a reassuring smile, but unfortunately it came out as more of a pained grimace when he almost tripped over the doorstep. "I'm okay," he gasped out, clenching his eyes shut briefly while he fought off the sensation. "I'm okay," he repeated, finally looking back up.

Derek seemed upset and unconvinced, though he couldn't exactly say anything contrary while like this. He huffed loudly and pawed at the ground in obvious frustration, looking moments away from turning away pacing in agitation for his lack of ability to verbally communicate his disapproval.

Stiles grinned at the sight and shook his head. "Really Derek," he said softly, searching those dark eyes. He suspected why Derek seemed to be so remorseful, but it was unnecessary. He knew just how careful Derek was with him most of the time, how much control and awareness it took not to be so rough with the fragile human.

This had been an accident; a momentary slip of control.

Stiles reached out slowly, resting his hand atop the large head. "You didn't hurt me, Derek," he told him firmly, despite the fact that they both knew it wasn't entirely the truth. He could handle a bit of pain; he had come to figure that it was just an occupational hazard of being around a pack of wolves.

Derek leaned into the touch, seemingly reluctant though content with the situation now. He stayed still while Stiles tentatively began to pet him, wondering how far the alpha would let him take it. He scratched his blunt fingernails in circles at the base of the ears, smirking when the long tongue lolled out almost happily.

Stiles traced up the edge of the ear, feeling the soft fuzz tickle his finger until it finally flicked away from him. He did the same to the other ear, grinning to himself until Derek turned his head and nipped at his wrist in reprimand. Instantaneously time seemed suspended around him, everything slowed to the point that closing his eyes felt like it took a decade.

Every thought tumbled away as the simple contact triggered something within him. He could feel the glide of teeth over his wrist, warm breath spilling over the odd bruise located there. It felt deliberately slow, as if to make him feel every second of it in an onslaught of sensation. No urgency, no desperation this time; a lifetime passing within a single moment.

Everything… he could feel everything. The gentle spring sunlight suddenly felt stifling hot as it peaked through the clouds, a powerful heat surging throughout his every vein. He almost feared the heat too severe, burning him like flames from within, but it was almost gentle.

Sound was intensified tenfold, the distant hum of a blow-dryer across the street just as loud as the quiet shuffle as Isaac moved about the kitchen. He could hear his own heart again, beating in an almost synchronized harmony with another just beside him. His mouth went dry when he realized exactly whose heart he heard.

A soft chime resonated loudly throughout the house, signaling the arrival of a text message. Almost immediately afterward the default ringtone followed it, someone calling without giving anyone time to even read the text, and before that could be answered, both the phone belonging to Isaac and the house landline began to ring.

It was the sense of urgency and insistence that finally brought Stiles from his stupor, eyes fluttering open slowly and his head tilted slightly. He met dark, ashamed eyes and knew with certainty that what had just occurred was no coincidence. He flicked his eyes back down, gazing instead down at the crescent bruise on his wrist; it looked more vivid than it had the previous night… darker than it had looked only minutes ago.

Stiles swallowed the thickness lodged in his throat, his chest feeling oddly constricted. He rapidly recalled where he recognized such a mark, shaking his head quickly. He felt… he honestly had no idea what he felt. He wanted to be wrong though, because… he wanted to be wrong. He released a shuddering breath and raised his head.

At the sight of his incomprehensible expression, Derek flattened his ears back with a troubled whine. He pawed at the ground, looking frazzled as his eyes willed Stiles to understand; they were apologetic and earnest, somehow trying to convey everything he wanted to say without words.

Before Stiles really had the chance to process anything, to even begin to try and understand, the frantic pounding of bare feet on tile had both of them turning. Isaac came bounding out the door at breakneck speed, his expression one of unreserved alarm. He held two cellular phones in hand, both clenched in a white-knuckled grip.

Silence reigned for one short, crippling moment as Stiles stared at him. "What is it?" he asked quickly, taking an unsteady step closer to the other boy. His heart began to beat erratically when Isaac hesitated to answer. "Isaac… what is it?"

Isaac looked back down at the phones. "Something happened at the police station," he breathed out harshly. "Your dad…"

"My dad?" he asked hoarsely, knees suddenly giving out as the unfinished statement left his mind open to every horrific scenario his overactive mind had ever conjured in the past. He felt arms catch him around the middle, not even aware of the painful twinge that shot up his side. "Isaac… is he… is he…?"

Derek leaned against his hip, aiding Isaac in lowering him to the ground before he could collapse. He shook his head briskly, eyes moist as he tried to stave off the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He blinked rapidly as tears blurred his vision, breathing harshly as he sank down in their embrace.

"Hospital…" Isaac informed him quickly. "He's at the hospital."

"Oh God." Stiles shook his head again, clenching his eyes closed. The hospital… that was good. It meant his father had survived whatever happened at the station, perhaps not in the best condition, but at least… at least… "I need to go. I… I have to—Isaac, I can't…"

Isaac held him tightly, the soft ends of his curls tickling his cheek as he nodded quickly. "Come on," he said gently, helping him rise to his feet. "Easy… we'll just get to your car, okay? I… you can talk me through how to drive a stick shift. Because I don't think your father would appreciate it if his new ward ruined your jeep."

Stiles knew on some level that Isaac was attempting to keep him calm, maybe to even keep them both calm, but he could not bring himself to acknowledge him. He stumbled even with the support, feeling too short of breath and a bit dizzy as he was led into the house. He needed to see his father. He needed to see him right now.

A growling whine made them both pause, just in the threshold of the door. He glanced back to see Derek attempting to follow them, his massive shoulders preventing him from fitting through the two and a half foot wide doorway. He growled again, twisting his body to make it slimmer so he could make it; he would have too, had Stiles not spoken up to stop him.

"Stay here."

Derek snapped his head up in startled surprise.

Stiles was a bit surprised at how harsh and broken his voice sounded to his own ears, but he only swallowed to clear his throat. "Stay here, Derek," he said again, unable to keep his hands from trembling. He found himself staring into stricken eyes, but could not muster the effort to even begin to explain.

It should be obvious that Derek needed to stay out of sight. He was an enormous six foot tall wolf monster that looked more than capable of tearing someone to shreds with the least bit of effort. Someone could see him if he tried to follow them to the hospital; not only would it place the whole pack in danger of exposure, but someone might shoot him on sight.

Not to mention the hunters, the ones allied to Gerard.

Derek just needed to stay hidden until the moon rose, when he could change back into himself. It would only be for a few more hours. He just needed to stay safe until then. That would be enough time for Stiles to check in with the hospital, to make sure… and then later tonight, he and Derek needed to have a very long and detailed discussion. But right now…

Stiles sighed heavily, turning back around. "Just stay here." He heard nothing more from Derek as they began to walk through the house, but Isaac faltered for just a moment when they reached the front door. He glanced behind him, his face contorting into something akin to pain. "Isaac?"

"… Come on," Isaac said quietly, grabbing the keys tightly. "Let's go."

As they pulled out of the driveway, a loud distressed howl sounded behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by TamIsMyFather


	18. Blatant Omission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All it had taken was one mistake, that one blatant omission about the claiming mark, and it had potentially ruined everything.

### Blatant Omission

The world around him just moments ago had been a vast oblivion of darkness, but now everything had inverted from black to white. Derek felt as if he were plummeting downwards, falling into even more of the white abyss. His mind felt hazy; he was barely aware of anything and he felt much too calm. He thought he should be anxious, but for the life of him he couldn’t recall the reason why.

Something solid and unmoving seemed to materialize beneath him as he came into consciousness. He was lying down on his stomach upon the hard surface, one arm trapped between him and the ground, while the other curled by his head so his fingers grazed his cheek. He searched his muddled mind, not entirely sure where he was, but nothing came to him. He had no idea where he was or how he had come to be here.

All he could do was lie there, his body utterly still except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he concentrated on breathing. There were too many scents and sounds to discern them all, but the earthy smell of dirt and grass seemed predominant. His hands felt wet and perhaps a bit sticky as he flexed his fingers. He also tasted something, an odd flavor coating his taste buds: a thick and heavy layer of cloyingly sweet rust.

“Hello Derek.” The strong voice echoed around him, sudden enough to bring him somewhat out of the lethargy he felt, but not enough to rouse his panic. If anything, it made him feel a bit more at ease. There was something very familiar about the voice, though he could not place it.

Every muscle had a languid feel as he attempted to turn over to see who spoke. Even his eyelids felt heavy over his eyes when he tried to pry them open; everything was distant, as if he were not entirely physical, but some phantom imposter trying to inhabit a body. It was a slow process as he regained senses that did not feel entirely his own, the world becoming more distinct with each passing moment.

Energy flowed into his body as if he were absorbing it from his surroundings to become more real. He rested there feeling the lethargy diminish as his eyelids finally lifted to reveal the tired green eyes beneath. He blinked slowly once, twice, before he felt as if he could keep them open for more than a moment. The first thing he saw around him was a lone flower surrounded by a patch of grass—a very unique and beautiful flower.

The lavender petals were the thinnest membranes he had ever seen, translucent to his penetrating eyes, with spider silk for veins. It was so fine and delicate in appearance that it seemed that even breathing on it would cause it to wither and die. The fragrance wafting from it was familiar and almost soothing, the small ray of sunlight shining down on it giving it all an ethereal appearance.

It was beautiful, but for some reason Derek thought he should hate it. No… not hate. That was not quite right. It was … as dangerous as it was useful. He should… respect it? Yes. That was it. He should respect it because… because it could be fatal to him, but it could also heal him. He studied it for a moment longer, the fog slowly clearing from his mind until he was finally able to place where he knew the flower.

 _Wolfsbane_ , his mind supplied. He was breathing in wolfsbane.

Derek growled lowly as the scent of it flooded his lungs. He weakly clambered onto his hands and tried to push himself away from the plant. He shuffled a good two yards before the odd lethargy and unnatural calmness dissipated, the strength returning to his limbs enough that he managed to sit back onto his heels. He reached one hand up to rub the dirt off of his face, pulling away abruptly with shock when it smeared something cold and wet there in its place.

The substance was viscous, though somewhat crusty like it had been drying for a while, but what really disturbed him was the fact that it was stark crimson. His stomach revolted as he inspected himself, noting that both his hands and beneath his fingernails were liberally coated in blood. It was not just his hands though; it had stained all the way up his forearms, had been sprayed across his chest in a gruesome pattern… and, after swallowing thickly and running his blunt teeth over his tongue, he could even identify it as the strange taste in his mouth.

 “Calm down,” a commanding voice said, and Derek’s head shot up quickly at the reminder that he was not alone. He settled on a figure standing in the shadows across from him, a tall man with a powerful physique. His features were grave, the deep lines on his forehead only more pronounced due to the deep-seated frown he wore. “Most of it belongs to us.”

Derek calmed as he had been instructed to, though only because he recognized the man. His hair was shorter than Derek remembered, the red-brown strands shorn close to his scalp; it looked as bristly as the hair along his jaw, which appeared rather neglected and wild from weeks of not shaving. His blue eyes seemed darker too, no longer as carefree as they used to be.

 “Logan,” Derek greeted hoarsely, coughing slightly as bile threatened to rise in his throat. His stomach churned with a combination of nerves and rejection of whatever he had ingested the previous day; he swallowed resolutely, determined not to expel the contents of his stomach. He breathed slowly, steadily ignoring the blood splattered around the small clearing they were in. “What…?”

“You attacked me last night,” Logan supplied. “I heard you howl the minute I came into town. Theia tried to stop me, but I knew something was wrong. I chased you into the forest and kept you away from the town, but you were a little… resistant. Most of the blood is ours, although we took down a deer sometime after midnight once I got you to cooperate.”

Another shadow slowly detached from the depths of the forest and Theia came to a stop just behind her alpha. Her arms were burdened with a bundle of clothing and Derek belatedly realized that she was the only one wearing clothes. He and Logan stood in a similar condition—with blood and bits of dark fur drying around their mouths and hands—and both completely unashamed or embarrassed in their state of undress. Modesty was not as imperative to their kind as it was to humans after all.

Theia bent at the knees and set the clothes down with an impassive expression at Derek, and then she returned to her full height, giving her alpha a look of deference. He inclined his head in gratitude, though the look he gave her was clearly dismissive. She pursed her lips, her eyes darting to Derek, but under the commanding gaze she only huffed to herself and left without any form of argument.

Derek watched her go silently, observing the exchange with curiosity. He would have thought that Theia would have been more headstrong, considering his own encounter with her the previous day. She seemed to be the confrontational type, someone who went against the rules and would start a fight, but she obviously respected her alpha enough to trust his judgment.

“She won’t bother us for a while,” Logan said quietly, ignoring the clothing for now and eyeing his bloodstained hands wearily. “Is there somewhere we can clean up?”

Derek took a moment to figure out just where they were. He thought they were on the preserve, not too far from where he usually ran on the full moon—the wolfsbane a clear indication. His family had grown it here for generations as a means of countering hunter bullets, but the years of neglect had let it grow wild. He listened closely and heard the telltale trickle of the nearby stream before clearing his throat and, without bothering to answer, led the way toward the rushing water.

Neither of them were inclined to speak at first and settled into an uneasy silence as they began to wash away the evidence of whatever had occurred. Derek, for one, had no idea what to say; he had not seen the other man in quite some time and their last bits of communication were very brusque and somewhat unpleasant. Apparently their reunion had been a bit of a battle as well, because Derek was quite certain that deer did not have dark russet fur.

Instead of concentrating on that, Derek decided to try and figure out what had happened. He could scarcely recall anything from the previous day, but he felt as if he were forgetting something important. He searched his mind, the memories distorted as if watching them through a clouded mirror. He felt a sense of urgency, something dark and painful gripping his heart as he willed himself to remember.

“What is it?”

Derek looked up, his face clouded in confusion. “I… I don’t remember what happened yesterday,” he told him with ample frustration. “I was trying to set up the cottage for you, so I picked up one of my betas in order to get the furniture, but then…” He rubbed at his temples, shaking his head slowly. “Everything just… disappears.”

“You experienced your first alpha transition yesterday,” Logan informed him, running a hand through his damp hair to get rid of the excess water. “Your form is quite…” He wore a contemplative expression, searching for an appropriate word. “Impressive.”

“Oh…”

“Your memory will return soon enough,” Logan added. “It is to be expected for the first time.” His face clouded into something rather disapproving all of a sudden. “Especially since you were alone, without any pack members to keep your mind grounded.”

Derek frowned as the words tugged at his memory. “Alone?” he murmured, wondering where the rest of the pack was. He could conjure up a memory of Erica for a brief moment, her hips swaying haughtily as she sashayed down the steps of the high school, and he could see Isaac in an old band tee and flannel pants and then… and then… nothing.

On the way back to the clearing he reached out with his senses, frowning as a confusing array of emotions washed over him like tidal wave. He had the full weight of six people in his mind, their emotions all converging into one dysfunctional symphony in his skull; it was a bit staggering and he found himself unable to sort out everything he was feeling.

Once they reached the pile of clothes, Logan tossed him a set of jeans and a long sleeved shirt before pulling on a set himself. “You looked like her,” the man said solemnly, drawing in a breath. His face was briefly a mask of pain, but it was gone in a flash. “Like your sister… only bigger.” He shook his head. “A lot bigger.”

Derek could only imagine how Logan felt right now, since the loss of his own mate had been more of a relief than anything. Kate had been a very bad choice for a mate; she was a deceiver, someone who worked her way into his life and his heart with her forked tongue, only to use her knowledge of it to ruin him. Stiles was going to be a much better ma—

“ _Stay here.”_

Derek had the sudden vision of Stiles standing in the threshold of a doorway, his face tear-stained and heavy with grief and resolve. Derek felt his blood turn to ice as his heart clenched with remembrance, everything about that horrible moment flooding back in a single foul swoop, the words echoing in his mind as if he were standing right in front of the younger man as he said them.

“ _Stay here, Derek,_ ” Stiles had said, and his usually expressive face had been horribly closed off in a way that Derek had never seen before. Stiles had turned away before Derek could even attempt to intervene and he had been unable to protest even if he could have stopped him from leaving. He’d had to watch Stiles walk away. “ _Just stay here._ ”

It had felt horribly like rejection, because Stiles _knew._

Stiles knew what Derek had done, that he had claimed him against his will and forced him into the beginning stages of a bond. Even if it had been unintentional, he had still let it happen and now that Stiles was aware of that fact—Derek had been hoping to speak of it on his own terms, to maybe encourage the idea for a few weeks, perhaps even months before—to let Stiles get to know him better and cultivate their bond into something strong and sustainable—and now the wolf was out of the bag.

Derek wanted to cling to the bond, suddenly stricken to realize how fragile it truly felt for the first time. He had only made it a few days ago; it was fresh and it should be at its strongest now until it was made permanent by the mating mark on the neck. Instead he felt as if it were slowly dissipating, leeching away from his consciousness with each passing moment… influenced by the sting of betrayal and overwhelming confusion he could feel that was not his own.

It may have been an unconscious decision or it may have been intentional, but either way Stiles was denying the bond now that he was aware of it. That alone made Derek seize with hurt, the emotion throbbing within him as he bowed his head. He had done this, had brought it on himself by betraying the fragile trust Stiles had had in him.

All it had taken was one mistake, that one blatant omission about the claiming mark, and it had potentially ruined everything. He’d promised himself that he would look away, that he would keep his attentions and feelings to himself if Stiles rebuffed his advances. He would stand aside if Stiles… didn’t want him. He’d wanted to let Stiles have a choice in this.

Derek somehow felt that the choice had already been made, without him having a chance to explain. He should bow out gracefully now and save them both the impending confrontation about it, but relinquishing his hold on their bond had sounded much easier in his head. He clung to it now, envisioning his very soul within his mind—the bond was severely diminished, clinging desperately to him by only thin spiderweb-like strands that pulled away from him with each breath he took.

Every instinct screamed at him, urging Derek to leave right now and find the boy before someone else came forward and took him. It filled his veins with a consuming fiery rage, even at just the idea that someone would claim what rightfully belonged to him. He raged within the confines of his own thoughts, fingers curling into white-knuckled fists as he released a harsh breath.

Stiles had only made fighting these dark thoughts more difficult by claiming him with words. “ _My alpha_ ,” he’d said, much like the others had been known to do on occasion, but with him it held an entirely different meaning. It was not just one of his betas declaring him as their alpha; it was Stiles verbally claiming himself as his.

Derek had a sudden dark insight that sent a cold thrill up his spine—he could make him want it. He could make Stiles want him. He had a degree of control over his pack. The compulsion to obey the alpha would make itself known now that Stiles had officially become his. He could command it and Stiles would be obligated to submit. And why shouldn’t he take what already belonged to him?

No one else could take Stiles once they were mated.

No one else would ever be privileged to know just how incredible he was. They would never know the softness of his touch, the warmth his concerned eyes sparked—they would never know what it felt like to be looked at with that soft scent of arousal permeating the air when held within close proximity. Only Derek would be privy to such things, to know what it felt like to hold his heart. Yes, only he would know what it felt like to have that kind of love, passionate and true like the sun and the moon finally united.

It was that thought that stopped Derek cold, his thoughts cutting off with a vicious snarl of repulsion. He felt horror fill his stomach with such an abrupt violence that he finally did retch, doubling over and emptying the contents of his belly out onto the grass. He collapsed to his knees, heaving as he dug his claws into the ground.

Derek would never know such a passionate and true love, because Stiles did not love him at all. He never would either, not if he were compelled deeper into this bond. His feelings would never be his own. Stiles would believe it perhaps, would feel as if it were genuine and be completely unaware of what was really occurring… but it would still be force.

It would be like raping Stiles of his free will; the vile word was all too sobering.

Derek felt his mind clear in an instant with the horror of the thoughts his mind had conjured, shaken to the core of everything that just went through his mind. It may have only been in thought, but even entertaining the notion felt just as damning if not worse. He betrayed Stiles by even thinking it. Was he truly capable of something so despicable? Could he really force him? His heart pounded fiercely, fearful to know the answer.

A warm hand settled comfortingly between his shoulder blades and Derek resisted the instinctive urge to shrug it off. He didn’t feel he deserved the comfort, not after—he heaved dryly, clutching at his weak stomach as his eyes watered. He recoiled from the acrid smell of his sick mess, shaking aggressively as he sank back away from it, his eyes burning as he clenched his jaw.

“It was only a deer.”

It took Derek a few moments to fully comprehend what Logan was saying. He swallowed thickly, ignoring the foul taste in his mouth, and stared down at the mess. He could see chunks of raw meat mixed in with the blood and acid, apparently from a poor deer he had brutalized in the night. He laughed hollowly, not entirely sure what he found so humorous, but the sound escaped him unbidden. The sound transformed into something broken moments later.

Logan frowned at him in concern. “Derek—”

Derek pulled away with a vicious roar. “Don’t touch me!” he barked, and suddenly the burning in his eyes was no longer from the threat of tears but from the sudden red haze fogging his vision. He looked up, baring his fangs in warning as the other wolf rose back up and stared down at him with an unfathomable expression.

“… What are your instincts telling you right now?”

Derek trembled with revulsion as he realized that nothing had changed. He still had the urge to find Stiles, to get to him as soon as possible. He clenched his eyes shut tightly and gnashed his teeth together, feeling the sting as a fang caught his tongue, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth again. He curled his hands into balls, claws likewise cutting into the thin skin of his wrists. His head cleared for a brief second.

 _Pain_ , he thought desperately. Pain would trigger the healing process. He needed to feel more of it and maybe… maybe it would destroy the filthy thoughts in his head as if they were some kind of disease. He did not pause to think of the irrationality of what he was doing; blood welled beneath the sting of his claws as he drew them down his arms, heavy droplets raining down into a pool on the ground.

Logan had him by the throat in an instant, lifting him up with only the strength of his arm. “Whatever you are thinking… what you are feeling right now…” His eyes blazed a bright red, a color that spoke of years of perfected control and discipline. His fingers flexed, the muscles in his arms straining as Derek struggled to free himself from the hold. “Ignore it.”

Rejecting the sudden impulse to submit to the dominance that the older wolf attempted to exert over him, Derek released a growl deep within his chest. He felt physically stronger, no matter how much control the other displayed. He could destroy him with the least bit of effort if he so desired. He felt threatened, as if the other man were encroaching on his territory, and that was very much a grievance that did not sit well with him.

“You are letting your instincts control you,” Logan said evenly, his lips pressed together in a grave line. He did not even seem to notice the slim gashes across his own arm from Derek’s struggling, barely even reacting to the wounds; they healed over within seconds, much quicker than the ones Derek had given himself. “Be stronger than this Derek… or do you want to become like your uncle?”

Derek met his eyes with a sharp breath, pinned by the knowing gaze he saw there. He found himself unable to look away. Peter… he was becoming like Peter; helpless to fight these changes and these emotions, soon to become something twisted and unrecognizable. He was diving headfirst into his worst fear; he truly was losing himself. He felt the grip on his neck loosen slightly as the words sank in.

Logan sighed heavily and studied him. “Your eyes…” He shook his head, rubbing his free hand down his weary face. “Do you even realize how far gone you have to be to have eyes as dark as yours? You should have called me the night you became an alpha, Derek. You were never prepared to undertake this power. Not like… Laura… and I were.”

“… I know,” Derek breathed out, his voice sounding gravelly. “I know.”

Something in the confession caused Logan to soften enough to release his hold. He sighed again, suddenly looking three times his age. “Do you have an anchor?” he demanded, looking mildly pacified at the small nod he received. “Concentrate on it now and center yourself. Remember to breathe, long and deep breaths.”

Throat seizing, Derek shook his head quickly.

“No!” he protested vehemently, knowing that if he did that, nothing would stop him from doing as every molecule in his body so desperately wanted. He would go to Stiles, he would go to him and—Derek was not sure he would be able to control himself. He feared what he might do if given the opportunity. “I… I can’t think about him or—”

Logan cut him off in disbelief. “You used a person?” He sounded a bit frustrated, though not quite angry at the news. “That is… inconvenient. Is… _he?_ ” He paused for a moment, frowning as he awaited confirmation. His lips twitched in vague amusement at the guarded nod he received in confirmation of the pronoun. “No wonder you never realized my cousin had a crush on you when you first met her.”

“ _I did not!_ ” Theia yelled from a small distance, her voice full of indignation.

“Is he your mate?” Logan ignored her yell, a curious frown on his face.

Derek winced slightly. “I… claimed him.” He confessed with great reluctance, uncertain he even wanted to give the rest of the details. He had claimed Stiles in the night without his knowledge or consent. He felt oddly apprehensive that his brother-in-law would be disappointed when he knew that bit of information, even if such disdain was rightly warranted for such actions; never mind that Stiles knew now.

Theia suddenly poked her head out of the trees. “Oh great lunar eclipse,” she muttered, a scowl forming on her lips. “Do you mean to tell me that that little hunter wannabe is your chosen mate?” She groaned when he growled at the description, the action in itself telling enough. “No wonder you tried to turn me into shredded beef when he got turned on.”

Derek narrowed his eyes at her. “You smelled of interest,” he snarled, the growl creeping back into his voice. The ‘he’s _mine_ ’ went left unsaid, but it was definitely implied. He might not remember everything yet, but he could remember that much. She had been intrigued by the human at first, if only because Stiles gave off the scent of want.

 “Yeah, I got the memo when you tried to decapitate me,” she said sweetly, rolling her eyes at him. “Besides, he threatened me with wolfsbane. You can keep him.”

Logan cast his eyes between them, a curious air around him. “Wolfsbane? You truly claimed a hunter as your mate?”

Derek bristled a bit at the wary tone, feeling the need to defend Stiles from the absurd accusation. “Of course not,” he snapped in reply. “Stiles is not a _hunter_.” He spat the word out as if it were a curse—to their kind, it may as well have been. “He is human and keeps the wolfsbane as a way to protect himself should we somehow lose control.”

“… Or to threaten outsiders with,” Theia added, crossing her arms.

“Stiles never threatened you,” Derek informed her coolly. “He only asked you to leave. It was Isaac who brought up the wolfsbane. You drew your own conclusions from their conversation and assumed it was a threat.”

Derek was actually a bit surprised that Stiles had kept it. He never thought to question what Stiles had done with the wolfsbane after he had taken it down. It had not occurred to him that the lingering traces of it he could smell were fresh and not residual. He probably should have expected it, really. But he couldn’t say he was unhappy with this development. He would rather have Stiles capable of disabling them than wake to find his blood in place of a deer’s.

Theia opened her mouth, but the words caught as she was unable to counter him. “Even if it wasn’t a threat,” she said finally. “It was definitely a warning.”

“One you were wise to heed,” Logan informed her, a hint of disappointment in his eyes as he gazed at her. “You were not invited into their territory and you did not announce yourself properly. They were well within their rights to demand retributions for your actions, but instead they only asked you to leave.”

Theia wilted slightly. “I only—”

“I know why you came,” he said quietly. “I appreciate your concern, but it was misplaced. You should have never come here. Derek is family.” He stared at her for another long moment until she nodded grudgingly. He turned away from her and gave Derek a considering look. “Feel better now?” he asked wryly.

Derek frowned at him. “What?”

Logan studied him briefly, nodding to himself when he came to some conclusion. “You were indirectly focused on your anchor when you defended him. Do you still feel as out of control as you did a while ago?”

Derek took a moment to examine his own thoughts. He wanted the answer to be a negative one, but he could not say that with complete honesty. He knew the other two would hear the lie should he attempt to say otherwise. He was not in control; he was the farthest thing from being in control. But… he did feel less fearful that he might do something unforgivable.

The dark need that had possessed him earlier seemed like a distant memory now, something he hoped would never overtake him again. His whole body simply recoiled at the thought of reliving that nightmare, of even contemplating those thoughts again. He could not allow himself to even think along those lines, to even consider a transgression that rivaled what Kate did to him in the worst sense. He would never hurt someone like that; he would never hurt Stiles like that.

… Derek would rather take his own life.

A soft hum of a car engine saved Derek from having to answer. He tensed at the sound as the other two did, listening with the belated comprehension that it was headed towards his own house down the dusty nearby road. He frowned for a moment, his mind automatically supplying the name of the hunter that usually barged onto his property. Upon closer assessment, Derek knew that he was only half correct.

The heartbeat was indeed familiar: the strong heart of an Argent. The fragrance in the air, however, was a bit sweet like a flower, even though that was almost completely overpowered by the scent of Scott and of pack. Allison… Allison Argent was on her way to his house. He did not know the reason, but if she were seeking him out of her own volition and without Scott to accompany her, he suspected it was an urgent matter.

Derek stood in the path of her vehicle before he even made the conscious decision to move. He saw her eyes widen in the small distance between them, the whole car jerking to a sudden stop just in front of him as her heart rate suddenly skyrocketed. She cursed, hands fisting the steering wheel, and she exhaled slowly. She looked beside her, to the small case he could see sitting on the passenger seat, then turned away from it with a frown.

Allison undid her seat belt and exited the car, her face uncertain as she approached him. She met his gaze though, the hint of fear overcome by determination. “Hi,” she said, and her voice was strong, if a bit shy. “I… well… you and I have never really been properly introduced. I mean, there was that time after the party where you gave me a ride home and then when my aunt—” Her breathing increased with the memory, her pale face twisting into something weary and apologetic. “And then with… everything else.”

It should not have been amusing, to see her flounder over their previous encounters. He knew their limited interactions had not endeared him to her much. He could not say he trusted her much either, but she did seem nice from what he had observed. She seemed genuine. He had not forgotten the fact that she had shot him with arrows and watched her aunt torture him, but Stiles and Scott trusted her and that was enough to buy her his patience. He simply raised an eyebrow and waited for her to get to the point.

“Okay, here’s the thing,” Allison exhaled loudly, fidgeting with the frayed sleeve of her shirt. “At the hospital the other day, you told my father that the next time he wanted to speak to you, that he should ask me to deliver the message. So…” She lifted both of her hands in wild gesticulation. “He’s on his way here… right now.”

Derek narrowed his eyes, the growl tearing from his throat unintentionally. He turned his attention to the road, although he suspected that Allison had been sent ahead of time to give him only a few moments of warning. He did not feel up to dealing with Chris Argent today. His stomach felt unsettled, his muscles still felt strained, and there was still that sense of urgency throbbing within him to find Stiles at all costs.

Something felt wrong, something that had nothing to do with the fact that Stiles now knew about the claiming mark on his wrist. He knew he was still missing vital bits of his memory from yesterday, but no matter how hard he tried to remember nothing came to him. He could only wait, hoping that he would eventually know what it was.

“Also,” Allison added hesitantly. “He is bringing a few… friends.”

Derek heard the shuffle among the trees and glanced behind him. “So am I.” He said it with confidence, watching as Logan and Theia emerged from the hedges. They came to a stop on either side of him, studying Allison with mild curiosity. “Allison, this is Logan, the alpha of the Montgomery Pack, and his second, Theia.”

“Nice to meet you?” the human girl said uncertainly, her body tensing only slightly. She stood her ground though, even as she was confronted by two assessing gazes.

“How many humans do you have in your pack?” Theia asked, though nothing about her tone sounded disapproving or appalled by the idea. She merely sounded intrigued.

Derek would prefer to answer that when they were not about to be confronted by hunters, so he ignored the question entirely as he heard the first vehicle turn onto the dirt path. He grew a bit tenser as he heard the next, but the first real stirrings of unease began when another three joined the convoy leading right to him. He felt dread and anticipation fill him, but he had not broken the code at all and they had a tentative truce, so he held his ground.

 “Who exactly are these people?” Logan asked quietly, watching with a very deceptive air of calmness as the caravan came into view around the bend of trees. The tightness of his jaw gave him away though, proving that he was reacting to the tension he sensed from Derek.

“… Hunters,” he supplied, unable to keep the agitation from his voice fully. He felt both of the wolves tense at the news. They may not have had the same experience with hunters as he had, possibly never even encountering one, but they had definitely heard the horror stories of what hunters were capable of. “The one leading them… is Chris Argent.”

Theia made a choking sound. “ _Argent?_ ” she snapped incredulously, her eyes darting to Allison with a sudden burst of awareness, no doubt recalling the fact that the other girl had mentioned it was her father that was coming. “You have an _Argent_ in your pack?”

Derek spared her a glance, though he kept most of his attention on the men exiting the vehicles one by one. “Yes,” he confirmed evenly, leaving no room for argument. He knew it was unprecedented, the daughter of a renowned hunting family considered a member of a wolf pack, but she had been chosen by Scott. She was bound to him now.

Theia seemed to have no idea what to make of his blunt statement and sputtered there for a moment, but she got over it quickly and turned to glare at the newcomers as they came to a slow stop a few yards away. She eyed the weapons they held with disdain, her shoulders hunched over in a somewhat defensive way.

Over four grown men took point, all of them heavily armed and emanating a scent of apprehension. The younger ones exited the cars as well, though they stayed back enough not to be considered a threat. They looked none too happy about being left out of the action, but only two of them even appeared capable of doing any damage: a tall boy with black hair who withdrew a set of throwing he had been concealing and a young slightly heavyset girl with an axe in her hand.

Chris Argent stood at the head of the crowd, a lethal crossbow clutched in one hand; the fact that the weapon was aimed at the ground was but a small comfort. “Alpha Hale,” he greeted squarely, bright eyes giving the others a critical look. “Expanding your pack?” he asked tensely, jerking his head at his daughter in indication that she should join him. His eyes displayed only a small hint of panic when he noted her empty hands.

Derek was certain the object she had left in the car was her own weapon. He felt a bit mollified to realize that she had trusted him enough to come unarmed against her father’s wishes. He may have to reassess her place in the pack another time, but for now he could only smirk knowingly as he met Chris’ eyes.

Allison stayed where she was though, positioned slightly in front of the other three as if she were some sort of mediator trying to protect both sides. “This is Alpha Montgomery,” she said clearly, raising her chin as she nodded toward the alpha wolf. She gestured to the blond girl beside him too. “His second, Theia. They are here to observe.”

Obviously the little huntress had been studying up on her customs: simple, straightforward, but courteous. She addressed both foreign werewolves properly and with respect, which probably went a long way in earning her some from the wolves in question. No introductions were made for the hunters. There were too many of them present to even consider trying to introduce them all, and with the mounting tension on both sides they would need to keep this brief to spare any bloodshed.

With that in mind, Derek inclined his head. “You have our attention.”

Chris smiled a miniscule smile, one that did not reach his eyes. “… Were you involved in the incident yesterday afternoon?” He tightened his grip on his crossbow, silently announcing that if the answer were affirmative he would be willing to disregard the truce and open fire. “Did you kill all those people in an act of vengeance?”

Derek tried not to let his surprise show. There had been more killings? How many had died in the day he lost? He had not even been aware of another incident. For a moment, he was stricken by a pang of fear that he just may have been involved, that somewhere in the gaps of his memory he had committed unspeakable crimes. But Logan had assured him that the only thing he had feasted on had been a deer. He had kept him from the town, from attacking anyone.

“No,” he answered honestly. “I was… a bit indisposed.”

Chris frowned, obviously not quite sure if he believed it or not. “Indisposed?”

“Alpha Hale experienced his first full transition yesterday,” Logan said evenly, eyes challenging as he addressed the issue. Unfortunately, his words were a bit damning as well, considering that such a drastic transformation could cause mental blackouts and intense aggression until the change was over. “His pack was with him when it first happened, but I took over during the night to keep him in check. He never went near any humans.”

 A few of the hunters exchanged a weary glance, but Chris only sighed heavily. “You really had nothing to do with it? I was hoping that wasn’t the case,” he admitted without shame, a sardonic grin escaping him when he obviously heard three low growls sound in response. He glanced back at his posse. “Put your weapons away.”

Everyone was obviously reluctant to obey, but they did as they were commanded.

“That means it had to have been the kanima,” Allison said strongly, giving her father a pointed look—as if this had been her argument from the beginning. She turned to Derek and added, “Scott told me your theory about what it wants. After what happened at the pool and then again when Stiles was attacked… especially now that it…” She shook her head. “They deserved prison for what they did, but they didn’t deserve _that_.”

Becoming increasingly frustrated at his own lack of knowledge, Derek gave the two a level look. “What did the kanima do?” he asked. He tried to keep his emotions tightly reigned in, though it was difficult now; he could feel so many things that it was hard to differentiate between what was his and what belonged to Allison. This stronger connection with the pack would be useful in the future, but right now it was only causing him more stress. His frustration continued to mount and he forced himself to try and remain calm.

“It attacked—”

“We don’t know for certain that it was the kanima,” Chris interjected, cutting his daughter off swiftly. “All we know is that something attacked the sheriff’s station yesterday afternoon. The power was all cut and the cameras were useless without the lights, but it made its way through the offices and into the cells.”

Derek swallowed the sudden thickness lodged in his throat. “It killed everyone?” he asked dimly, thinking of the men and women who all worked there. The female deputy he had flirted with weeks ago, the ones who had arrested him on suspicion of murder—he could see their faces all clearly in his mind, but one face stood out the most. “Sheriff Stilinski?”

 To even consider it made Derek feel sick with trepidation. It was the final piece of the puzzle though, the name triggering the memory of Isaac barging outside of the Stilinski home with phones in hand and a panicked expression. Isaac had said the sheriff was in the hospital. He now remembered why Stiles had walked away, why he had told Derek to stay behind. God, no wonder the need to find the boy was so strong.

Stiles must be in agony, even at the mere thought of losing his only family. Derek needed to leave right now; he needed to go to him. No longer urged by the twisted need to keep Stiles as his, he only wanted to comfort him. Even if Stiles wanted nothing to do with him right now, even if he were rejecting him… Derek would not let him go through this alone. Regardless of what was happening between the two of them, Stiles was pack and he would have their support.

“Sheriff Stilinski and the rest of the officers on duty were all paralyzed,” Allison said quickly, her eyes full of concern and gentle understanding. “None were severely injured, but they were all a bit beat up.” She smiled at him briefly when he released a sudden breath, but her face sobered up in an instant. “The prisoners…” She shuddered, drawing her arms around herself, unable to continue.

“The ones responsible for assaulting the Stilinski boy were all slaughtered,” Chris concluded grimly. “There was barely anything left for officials to identify. I may not agree with what they did… but they were being punished to the fullest extent of the law and only a few of them were older than my own daughter.” He breathed out heavily. “We suspected you first because everyone else was left relatively unharmed.”

“… Understandable,” Derek conceded dryly, trying to figure a way to leave as quickly as possible in order to get to the hospital. “You have my alibi for yesterday.” He allowed his eyes to flash red and his fangs to extend, holding back his wince of pain as he felt the tension in his bones as the change threatened to commence. He needed to speed this up. “Or would you like a demonstration as proof that I have control?”

Chris gave him a wary frown. “That won’t be necessary.” He turned his head briefly, jerking it in order to signal the rest to load back into their cars; in doing so he completely missed the tight grimace as Derek attempted to rein in his transformation. “Alpha Hale, Alpha Montgomery,” he said respectively when he turned back. “Allison.”

Allison nodded quickly and moved back to her own car, whispering a quiet farewell that only the wolves could hear. “The sheriff is in room 305,” she added, closing the door and locking her seat belt in place. She sent another dim smile at them all before driving away with the rest.

Logan placed a warm and reassuring hand on his back once they were all gone. “Just breathe through it,” he suggested. “It will pass in a few minutes.”

“I need to get to the hospital.”

Logan frowned warily, but eventually nodded. “I’ll drive.”

 “I can—”

“I’ll drive,” Logan repeated resolutely, though he continued before Derek could even fully feel irritation at being rebuffed. “You can explain more about why you have an Argent in your pack when her family is responsible for the murder of yours and how you managed to get yourself involved with a kanima.”

Derek sighed in grudging defeat, knowing that the kanima was the whole reason he had contacted the other alpha to begin with. He would offer a brief explanation about Allison and Scott, if only because Logan deserved to know now that the hunters had involved themselves. He nodded in assent, growling a bit when the blond woman snickered behind him.

“Theia,” Logan began, having heard it as well. “You are going to go home.”

Immediately, the chortling ceased. “What?” she asked in disbelief.

Logan stared at her. “Scout the area on your way out of town and call me if you see anything suspicious,” he added. “However, you have responsibilities you need to attend to back home.” She gave him a glare of defiance, but his eyes flashed bright crimson. “Go home.”

Theia deflated almost instantly as the command was issued. She frowned in displeasure, but ultimately gave in with a reluctant nod. “Hale,” she said sharply. “If anything happens to him…” She curled her hands into a fist, shaking her head. “Just keep him safe… please?”

Derek nodded slowly at the plea, watching as she rolled her eyes and turned in order to capture her cousin in a tight hug. He heard her whisper her goodbyes, despite his attempts not to eavesdrop on their farewell. It was practically impossible not to hear. She immediately took off into a sprint, dodging trees as she disappeared.

“Are you ready to leave?” Logan asked cautiously. “Or do you need a few more minutes to calm down?”

Derek brushed by him without a word, determined to find the rest of his pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: January 23, 2013 by TamIsMyFather.


	19. Devastating Loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had been attempting to ignore it all morning, this devastating loneliness that had made itself known to him once he had finally allowed himself to calm down.

### Devastating Loneliness

Stiles wondered if this helpless despair was what his father had felt when it had been him in his place. There was nothing he could do but wait and it was driving him crazy. He walked through the winding corridors aimlessly, no real destination in his mind but _away_. He was grateful for the support he was receiving—worried friends, sympathetic neighbors, and even just nosy strangers who came up to him to wish his father well. He was glad that the town had seemingly rallied in light of what had happened, but there was just a point where he wanted to be left alone for a while.

The hospital was becoming all too familiar now. He had been confined here himself for almost a whole week and was even due back to have his staples removed soon, but this… this felt worse than when it was him in the gurney. This time it was his father and having their roles reversed like this was unbearable. He hated it. He hated the artificial brightness all around him, he hated the smiles the doctors and nurses wore as they spoke to each other like nothing was wrong, but most of all he hated the solemn atmosphere.

Scott and Isaac were out in the waiting room, all among those who were likewise here waiting in support of their friends and families, to wait for news about their loved ones that could either be good or bad, or even to be treated themselves for whatever ailment they suffered. There was nothing worth smiling about in the waiting room right now and he avoided that place like the plague, if only to escape the weight of their concerned gazes for a moment. He also found it impossible to stay in the room his father was being kept in, because the man was tired and numb and he needed rest.

It was a decent-sized hospital for such a small town.

Each new turn he traveled revealed a similar stretch of narrow walls with darkened rooms lining either side of him. He needed time to himself, to organize his thoughts, and it was all too easy to lose himself in a directionless walk. He bypassed doctors and nurses without uttering a single word, unable to stand their looks of sympathy and pity. He walked past patients as they were rolled through the hospital, ignoring the pang in his heart when he recognized them as some of the people his father worked with.

Stiles found the sense of unease in his belly uncoiled as he navigated his way down the impossibly long and confusing hallways. How had everything become so confusing? Everything felt so cold and empty inside of him. He was not sure when it had happened, but he was certain he would have realized it sooner had he not been so preoccupied. He would have noticed this sudden and mounting hollowness in his chest, this vacant nothingness that had begun to coil tightly around his heart like a vice.

Yesterday had been too overwhelming for him to take notice. He had been so consumed by his own urgency and despair that he had simply suppressed everything else. He had put it all on the backburner to be scrutinized further another time. Nothing else had mattered beyond his father yesterday. Even once the commotion had finally settled, staying beside him had taken precedence over anything else.

The journey to the hospital was a distorted blur in his mind, but the fear of the unknown had contributed to the most excruciating three hours of his life. There was a downside to having such an active imagination, especially during a crisis situation. He had envisioned so many twisted scenarios his father could have been in, each one more inventive and gruesome than the last. He could admit to being overly irrational, but it was his _father_.

Isaac had done a rather decent job of keeping him calm though, even if he had driven across town more quickly than traffic laws should have probably allowed. The other boy had spoken in quiet, reassuring tones the whole way there, had reached across the middle console in order to touch him in some way every few moments.

Wolves were very tactile creatures as Stiles was coming to understand, but he was surprised by just how welcome the contact had been. Isaac had refused to leave his side once they finally arrived at the hospital and had contacted everyone else to keep them updated. At first no one would tell them what was going on, just that his father was stable. Melissa had arrived long before her evening shift with Scott in tow and had taken it upon herself to make a few inquiries among her colleagues to find more about the situation.

Officials had found trace elements of an unknown paralytic contaminant which had essentially rendered everyone in the entire building immobilized for hours. His father had been the only one out of everyone to have gotten away with literally only a scratch—just a small, precise incision on the back of his neck. He was fine otherwise, but the scratch held more significance than the doctors and investigators had yet to realize.

Everyone else had sustained a few more injuries beyond the paralysis though. Most had been bludgeoned unconscious and manhandled into a pile inside one of the interrogation rooms for the next shift to find. The prisoners awaiting trial for the attack on Stiles had all been massacred. No suspects were found and all of the surveillance equipment had been smashed beyond recognition.

Stiles honestly had no idea how he was supposed to feel about anything. He thought he should have felt worse than he did about the hunters. They were all dead… every single one of them. Even after what they had done, Stiles had felt no lingering resentment. He was capable of being objective because he understood the reasoning behind their attack. They were all young, most around his age, and that was how they were raised.

They had been brainwashed their whole lives into believing they were doing humanity some big favor by eradicating the werewolf threat—that they were heroes defending people against the supernatural. It might have been right. He might not agree, but he could only imagine what he would be like had he been raised that way.  He could understand their motives.

Stabbing a human, even one in a pack of wolves, had been a grievous mistake and unfortunately one that had apparently cost them their lives. He should probably feel more upset about it, both about what they had done to him and what had happened to them in return. He only felt indifferent about it though, the apathy harsh and startling, but it was how he felt. He was more upset that the kanima had paralyzed his father and everyone else than he was about the hunters dying.

That thing had hurt his father, albeit not as much as it had the others it had attacked, but Stiles remembered the feeling associated with being paralyzed by the kanima. Being betrayed by your own body was not a welcome feeling, but the lingering effects were just as terrifying. The numbness and tingling had lasted for days until the last remnants of the toxin had been purged from his system.

Everyone from the most recent attack had already woken up and expressed similar feelings, but the problem… the reason Stiles felt so anxious even though no one else had succumbed to their injuries was that everyone was still paralyzed. The deputies and the sheriff himself were all alive, but they couldn’t so much as twitch their fingers or toes yet. And it was well past the two hour mark.

Stiles had thought it would wear off sooner than this. He theorized that either the kanima had given everyone a double whammy to keep them all incapacitated for days, or his earlier thought of the effect only lasting approximately two hours was wrong. He had never thought to ask anyone how long it had taken the hunters to finally move after the kanima had attacked them, because to be honest, it had been the farthest thing from his mind. In hindsight, though, he regretted not thinking to ask.

There would be no way to know for sure just how long the effects would last this time. He had been indirectly exposed the one time he had been paralyzed, had only touched the venom on a door handle and it had kept him down for only thirty minutes or so. He had been basing his knowledge of it off of Derek, who had been paralyzed for over two hours after receiving a dose directly to his bloodstream, but… that was inaccurate.

Derek was not only a werewolf with inhuman healing capabilities, but he was also an _alpha_ and more powerful than the rest. His body broke things down differently. What took him two hours to recover from could take days for anyone else. It could take weeks even, and not knowing just how long his father would be hospitalized had caused Stiles to nibble his nails down to the quick.

Stiles knew one thing for certain now though. His father had a saying that if something happened once it was an incident, if it happened twice it was a coincidence, and if it happened three times it was definitely a pattern. Knowing that, Stiles could no longer willfully ignore what was glaring him straight in the face. He had been the center of no less than three instances involving the kanima before yesterday.

It had been there that night at the garage and had left him unscathed, though it murdered the mechanic. It had been there that night at the pool, circling and waiting, attacking Derek and Erica with startling speed, but had moved slow enough toward him when he tried to get his phone. It had protected him that day when the hunters attacked him and Derek. And now… he knew exactly why the group of imprisoned, adolescent hunters had been murdered.

Kanimas were creatures of vengeance.

Even if there was next to no lore about them online or in the few accurate creature books he had dug up in the library, the one consistent factor he had discovered was that they hunted down murderers to avenge their victims. There were obviously some inconsistencies there, but the fact remained that the only reason the kanima went after the hunters was because of _him._

Stiles felt a sense of responsibility, knowing his part in their deaths, but he was certain now that the kanima had punished those responsible for hurting him. He had denied it for so long, wanting everyone to be wrong. It made no sense. He had been so sure that the excessive protection detail was completely unnecessary and misguided… but Derek had been right all along. No one had been wasting their time protecting him… the kanima wanted him.

Even knowing that, there was still one very important question that remained unanswered. Why? Why him? Why was it targeting him? Why had it protected him? Why did it avenge him? Why? It was the missing piece of the puzzle. There had to be a reason behind it, because Stiles absolutely refused to believe that it just wanted to be his friend. If that was what it wanted, why kill the mechanic and attack his other friends?

Despite the intense desire to contemplate exactly what the murderous, vengeful snake wanted with him, Stiles found his thoughts diverting onto another topic without his consent. He had been attempting to ignore it all morning, this devastating loneliness that had made itself known to him once he had finally allowed himself to calm down. He had noticed it last night too, but had ignored it in favor of fighting with a nurse in order to stay past visiting hours.

This morning it had slammed into Stiles so hard that for one long, terrifying moment, he had forgotten how to breathe. He was so confused by this great, empty void in his chest. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. He imagined it was what it felt like for a heart to break though, which made him think it had to do with Derek in some way.

Derek had not made an appearance today so far, but Stiles had overheard the tail end of a phone call between his best friend and Allison earlier. He wasn’t sure what was going on there, but they had mentioned Derek at one point. Scott said it was nothing when he asked, but there was a reason that the other boy always made Stiles come up with the lies and excuses. He was too easy to read and Stiles knew everyone was keeping him out of the loop.

Stiles did not appreciate it. He liked to be kept informed, even if they were treating him like glass because he was hurt, but he was willing to let it slide for now. He needed time to gather his thoughts anyway. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Derek finally made his way here to the hospital, so Stiles needed to be prepared for when that happened. He had no idea where to even begin though. He came to a sudden stop in the middle of a vacant hallway and exhaled slowly as he turned to lean back against a wall.

Glancing down to his right wrist, Stiles tentatively traced the crescent-shaped bruises there with his eyes. He had no idea what to think about it or what he felt about it, not with his emotions conflicting so much. It was just a little nip on the wrist. His skin remained intact, no blood had been drawn, but the significance behind it was heavy on his soul. He knew what it was now… he knew it was a claim.

Someone had claimed him. Had it not been for the fact that he had witnessed firsthand the way Derek turned his head to catch at his wrist—the same way he had seen Scott do to Allison—he might have thought it was an actual physical manifestation of his nightmares. That it was some kind of werewolf stigmata. This did not come from his nightmares though. This was real. It was real and it happened and he didn’t understand any of it.

Stiles felt safe in ruling out the possibility of it all being one sick joke.

Derek had told him that a bite on the wrist was not to be taken lightly. It was meant to be something important and special. It was the initial stage of a courtship… the werewolf equivalent of a ring… the prelude to a lifelong commitment. He knew that Derek would never do something like this for a laugh at his expense. Not only did the sour wolf lack any concept of humor, but Stiles was positive that he knew his character enough to know he would never do anything that cruel to anyone.

… But that could only leave the possibility that it was _real_.

A soft chirp interrupted his thoughts.

Stiles was simultaneously irritated and relieved by the distraction and quickly reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone. He unlocked the screen and stared at the message uncertainly before placing it on silent. He felt entitled to a minute to himself. He just wanted to disappear for a while and get some perspective to clear his head, but no one was willing to give him that.

“You look troubled.”

Stiles snapped his head up quickly, flailing slightly out of fright. “Holy shi—” His eyes frantically sought out the unwelcome intrusion, widening when he finally registered the presence of a vaguely familiar woman. His words caught in his throat as he came face to face with Mrs. Martin, the mother of his childhood crush. Her bright eyes turned slightly disapproving at his words and he recovered from his stupor. “—itake mushrooms! Don’t you just love them? So earthy and delicious, and awesome as a meat replacement, don’t you think?”

Mrs. Martin gave him an indulgent smile at his aborted attempt. He was momentarily taken aback by just how much she resembled Lydia when she smiled. He found himself smiling back automatically in reply. It was quite easy to see who Lydia had inherited her looks from even with the subtle differences. Her eyes were a different color, a vibrant shade of blue instead of green, and they appeared magnified by the thin wire-framed glasses resting precariously on her nose. Her hair was a darker shade too, but the shape of her face and her smile reminded him of his former crush quite a bit.

“I’ve found that shiitake mushrooms are actually better in a good pasta dish,” she said gently, generously humoring his slip of the tongue. “Portobello mushrooms make a much better meat replacement since they have a unique meaty taste, especially when grilled. You should try them some time. Stiles, isn’t it?”

“Yes ma’am,” Stiles grinned sheepishly, running a hand over the back of his neck. He took a quick cursory glance around them, but felt a sudden pang of worry when he noted she was alone. “Is Lydia here? Did something happen?” He might have been forbidden by Derek and the rest of the pack from interacting with her, and he might have finally gotten over his crush, but he still cared about her. “Is she okay?”

“Lydia is doing just fine,” she assured him, her smile widening with amusement when he gave an obvious sigh in relief. “She has recovered well from her own visit here and she seems to be doing even better now that she has started going to counseling. I think talking to someone about her nightmares is really helping her, although I’m sure she will deny it until her dying breath. Thank you for asking.”

“… Lydia is in counseling?”

Mrs. Martin frowned in confusion before a flash of realization went through her eyes. “Lydia never told you.” She pursed her lips and reached up to remove her glasses in order to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Could you… not repeat that to anyone? I’m sorry, she just… she told me that she mentioned it to her friends. I just assumed…”

“Oh. Oh, no, of course,” Stiles nodded quickly, shrugging his shoulder. “I won’t say anything about it to anyone.” He was almost positive that it would have been circulating around the school by now if she had mentioned it to any of her robotic minions, so Lydia had probably only told Allison and Jackson… or not, considering that both of them kept blowing her off.

Stiles knew Lydia never would have mentioned it to him either, even if she had invited him to the winter formal last year and had cried in his arms after ice skating just weeks ago. He probably lost his only chance to be counted among her confidants when he left her alone in the school parking lot after promising he would be right back to listen to her problems. Not that he blamed her.

“Thank you, Stiles.”

Stiles nodded with a sympathetic smile. “No problem, Mrs. Martin. Nightmares are…” He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head, striking the memory of glowing red eyes from his thoughts. “I… I am really, really glad that Lydia has someone to talk to,” he said sincerely, looking up at her. He frowned when her eyebrows pinched together in concern.

Mrs. Martin observed him for a long, quiet moment before she spoke again. “You are having nightmares too.” She said it with certainty, her voice offering no room for protests or denial. “You and Lydia have the same look…” She shook her head sadly, her frown becoming more pronounced. She abruptly reached inside of her purse and rifled around for a moment, finally extracting a small, rectangular card. “You deserve someone to talk to too, Stiles.”

Stiles accepted the card silently when she offered it to him, looking away from her penetrating blue eyes in order to study it. His eyes darted back and forth and he quickly looked up at her incredulously. She only gave him a look he could not decipher, but something in him felt disquieted by the fact she had given him this.

_Dr. Carol A. Reese, Clinical Psychologist._

Mrs. Martin thought he needed therapy. She had talked to him for all of five minutes and she thought he needed to see a shrink? He got why Lydia needed it. He had known that she was struggling for some time now and he thought it was great that she had found someone to listen to her. He was happy that she had, since everyone kept isolating her to keep their secrets… even him.

Lydia was just as ignorant of everything that was really going on as the rest of the people in this town, and the few things she had been involved with probably made no sense to her. He knew what she was going through, but he was aware of everything and he was doing just fine on his own. His nightmares stemmed from unpleasant memories and yeah, it was becoming a problem, but he had no desire to let some stranger psychoanalyze him.

“Everything is fine,” he said adamantly, holding the card back out for her to take. “I don’t need to talk to anyone.”

The woman made no move to retrieve it though. She was not even looking at him any longer; instead all of her attention was on cleaning her glasses. “My daughter told me that she barely remembers anything from that night at the dance. She said she recalls even less about her disappearance from the hospital a few weeks ago. I know Lydia well enough to know that she remembers more than she is letting everyone believe… and I think you do too.”

Stiles swallowed thickly and drew in a shaky breath, unable to think of anything that might be considered a suitable response. What could he possibly say though? He stared down at the card uncertainly, wondering exactly what it was about him that made her think he was like her daughter. He was more aware of the situation, but at times he thought he felt just as lost as Lydia must feel, but he was getting through it.

“Neither of you have to go through this alone, Stiles,” Mrs. Martin told him gently, giving him a compassionate smile. She tilted her head at him before finally placing her glasses back on her nose. “Whatever happened to you two that night… whatever you both saw that is staying with you like this? You need to talk to someone about it if it is still affecting you.” Her gaze was searching and understanding all at once. “If you don’t want to talk to me, I can refer you to some of my colleagues, but I’m willing to speak to you for free.”

Stiles frowned as the words registered. “You…?”

Mrs. Martin nodded. “Yes. We could talk about anything you want,” she assured him. “You could start off with how your day was or what you had for lunch. It doesn’t have to be about anything personal. You need to talk to someone though, honey, even if it is just your friends. But sometimes it is easier to speak to a stranger than it is to someone you care about.” She gave him a wan smile. “Whatever you are doing now… it is unhealthy.”

Stiles nodded slowly and finally lowered his hand, curling his fingers around the small card reluctantly. He would take it if only to pacify her, but… he would probably never have a reason to use it. Not just because he didn’t want to, but because no matter what she said, he was fine on his own. What would he even say to a therapist? He would be censoring every word.

These secrets Stiles was keeping and the things he had seen were not his to share. His sleeping habits might have been suffering, yeah, but it was just something he would have to live through. He could handle it. He tried to smile at her, but it probably came out as more of a grimace, so he just kept his eyes down and stared at his scruffy sneakers. He could feel her eyes on him though, the weight of her gaze and the silence making him feel distinctly uncomfortable.

“So Lydia is seeing this Dr. Reese person?” he asked abruptly, in a desperate attempt to get the attention off of him. He looked up in surprise when she released a soft laugh, blinking as she shook her head at him. He glanced around himself surreptitiously for the source of her amusement, but they were alone at the moment.

Mrs. Martin finally calmed down enough to speak, her voice still full of laughter. “Stiles, honey, _I_ am Dr. Reese. Lydia is seeing your school guidance counselor, Ms. Morrell.” She smiled widely at what must have been a completely dumbfounded look and shook her head again. “Lydia is my daughter and I love her, but she and I have had many debates on the validity of my profession. I thought it best to send her to someone else, someone who could maintain a sense of objectivity when dealing with her.”

Stiles smiled back awkwardly. “Oh…”

“Lydia’s father and I divorced last year,” she added, volunteering the information in order to clear up his remaining confusion. “I retook my maiden name once the divorce was finalized a few months ago.”

“… Congratulations?” he said uncertainly. “If it is a reason to celebrate, I mean.”

The woman smiled enigmatically and made no comment, but her eyes softened a bit more and she reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “I should probably get back to work, so I’ll let you go now. If you need anything, just give me a call. I’m available to talk whenever and about whatever you need to talk about.”

Stiles had a strange ache in his heart as he watched her begin to retreat. She was surprisingly easy to talk to, but he chalked it up to her being a psychologist and the fact that she had a certain maternal feel about her. She was too perceptive though. She saw right through him without even trying and Stiles felt bared for her scrutiny. He gave the card she had given him one last glance before tucking it into his pocket.

“Thank you!” he blurted out before she could disappear entirely, startling himself with his need to say something else to her. She paused briefly, looking over her shoulder and smiling at him again.

“You’re very welcome, Stiles.”

Something about the soft, understanding tone eased the last remnants of tension from Stiles. He exhaled a long breath, feeling calmer and more settled than he had in the past twenty-four hours. He finally extracted his phone and gave it a considering frown. He had three more unanswered messages, two from Isaac and one from Scott. He still wanted to be alone for a while longer, but he knew given the situation that it was just not an option right now.

The internal debate ended abruptly and Stiles lifted his head to glance around and figure out just where he was. He had wandered around for a while, paying no attention to his surroundings, so he sought out a placard on the wall to give him some clue as to where his feet had apparently brought him.

 _Oncology…_ His heart constricted and he realized just why this place was so much quieter than the rest of the hospital. He cast his eyes down to a certain door, backing away from it as he quickly shot off a quick response to Scott before he could change his mind. He only had to wait three minutes before his best friend suddenly came sprinting down a corner.

Scott slowed when he finally caught sight of him, his face a mixture of concern and accusation. “Isaac is totally freaking out, dude,” he said shortly, coming to a stop right beside him. “He said you told him you were going to the bathroom and would be right back… an _hour_ go. An hour, Stiles! Do you know what could have happened to you?”

Stiles lifted his shoulders minutely, giving him a vaguely apologetic look. “Sorry.” He glanced back down the hallway, his heart in his throat. “Can we go somewhere else, please?”

Scott blinked at him briefly and looked around, his face suddenly grim as he took in the familiar setting. He wrapped one arm around his shoulders and guided them toward the elevator. As soon as the doors closed behind them, he enveloped him in a tight embrace.

“Your dad is going to be fine, Stiles,” Scott whispered fiercely. “This is not the same thing, okay? This is something we can fight. We _will_ fight and nothing will happen to him. We are going to protect him. I promise we will. You won’t lose him.”

“… I know.”

Stiles extracted himself when the elevator gave a little ding, signaling that they had reached the second floor. He stepped out and was immediately overwhelmed by the bustling hallway. He made no move to resist when Scott wrapped a hand around his arm and gently tugged him away, leading him into an empty room and closing the door. They leaned against the wall together, their shoulders touching as they relaxed into a comfortable position.

“Isaac is convinced you’ve been kidnapped by the kanima,” Scott told him wryly. “So we will need to go soon, but we can take a minute. You know, we tried tracking you, but we lost your scent. There are too many people and weird smells here, and everything gets kind of jumbled. It took me ten minutes to convince Isaac not to call everyone else to form a search party when he realized he couldn’t find you.”

“… Are you serious?” Stiles asked him incredulously, but the smirk on his friend’s face said it all. He groaned and pressed the back of his head into the wall, smiling a grudging smile at the fact that he was surrounded by overprotective wolves. “Dude… he keeps trying to make me _eat_ something.” He heard a strangled laugh and elbowed Scott ruthlessly. “It is not funny! Well, it was at first, but now it’s just kind of annoying.”

Scott gave him a sad excuse for a sympathetic smile; he remained on his feet even with the shove he received for his inability to smother his laughter. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, lifting his hands up in the air in surrender. “It’s just so… so hard to swallow.” He dodged the swat aimed for the back of his head with ease, grinning and obviously pleased with himself.

“Ha, ha, dude,” Stiles deadpanned. “You would make an awesome comedian.”

“Really?” Scott preened.

Stiles took great pleasure in squashing his dream. “No dumbass, you would get booed off the stage in ten seconds flat.” He huffed and crossed his arms when Scott only continued to smile at him. “I am being serious here, man. Isaac fed me hospital food today. _Hospital_ food, Scott, which is just as bad as the crap they serve at school. My body is a temple and it has been defiled with processed garbage. Curse those thrice damned Bambi eyes!”

“… Bambi eyes?”

“Don’t judge me,” Stiles sniffed disdainfully. “You try saying no to him.”

Scott grinned even more and shook his head. “Isaac is just concerned about you. We all are, but dude, you got him exonerated for a crime we both know he had nothing to do with. You also managed to give him a place to stay. Maybe his whole obsession with trying to feed you is his way of showing that he is grateful.”

Stiles might have been inclined to agree had he not already known the cause. “Isaac admitted that Derek had something to do with it the other night when it started. Apparently he told him to make sure I ate or something and now Isaac just… it was even cute at first, you know? But it’s like he has it in his head now that feeding me is his one responsibility.”

“…You should talk to Derek then,” Scott suggested with a shrug. “He has the whole—” He deepened his voice so it had unnatural undertones, obviously his attempt to emulate Derek. “ _Alpha_ voice thing.” He cleared his throat and added, “Even I have trouble disobeying him now. He could probably make Isaac stop if it is bothering you.”

Talk to Derek… right. Stiles grimaced unintentionally at the prospect of speaking to the alpha, inwardly groaning when his reaction caused his friend to raise an eyebrow in question.

Isaac and his food obsession would be the last thing on his mind when he spoke to Derek. He was not looking forward to any kind of confrontation, but he needed to know what was going on. He needed to know why Derek had done this and why he had not mentioned it. He needed to know what it meant, because he felt he was missing a very important element here.

“Or you could just talk to me,” Scott said hopefully, his head tilted inquisitively. “Is everything okay? You’ve been… kind of subdued lately. I thought it was just from…” He drew in a slow breath, his hands balling into fists at his side and he shook his head. “I don’t even know what I thought, but the point is… you seemed better for a while and now you just took off and… the face thing.”

Stiles smiled despite himself and snorted. “Face thing?”

“… You have this look on your face sometimes,” Scott told him, an unhappy pang in his voice. He averted his eyes and bit down on his lip. “I don’t like it.”

Stiles stared at the side of his face for one long moment, unable to formulate any kind of response to that. He sighed and considered his options. He and Scott used to talk about everything. Secrets were never secrets for long, at least not to each other. They used to do everything together too, but now it felt like there was some kind of distance between them, a chasm that separated them. It had gotten better this past week alone, but it was far from repaired.

Drawing in a long, cleansing breath, Stiles traced the bruise on his wrist absently with a finger, searching for the presence that had been in the back of his mind for days now. He swallowed down the disappointment when he felt nothing but coldness in the place of the gentle warmth that had soothed him through a panic attack only days ago. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and then glanced beside him.

“… Why did you bite Allison on the wrist?”

Scott stilled beside him, his face etched in surprise. “Why?”

Stiles licked his lips and looked away, keeping his own wrist firmly against his body and out of sight nervously. “The first time it happened,” he clarified, hoping that his best friend could give him some insight as to what was happening. “Why did you do it?”

Scott shrugged. “I told you that it’s hard to explain,” he reminded him, though to his credit, he did seem to seriously consider the question. “It was the first time that we…” His ears began to turn a bit red, an oddly content smile forming on his lips. “ _Made love_ ,” he coughed, clearing his throat. “We were cuddling after and everything just felt so… so _right_ , you know?”

No. Stiles did not know what he meant, although he held his tongue to keep from saying as much. He wanted to know that kind of feeling, wanted to have the same kind of connection they felt. He had witnessed his friends together in their brief moments in the eraser room at school and had been reluctant to admit that he craved the intimacy himself but now… he wanted it so much more than he had thought possible. He wanted to be wanted like that.

“Allison was touching my face and she… she wanted to see.” Scott released an embarrassed and incredulous laugh, as if he still could not believe it had happened. “She wanted to see _me_. She knew how much I hated that part of me, how much I despised what I am, but… she said that it didn’t matter to her.”

Stiles nodded knowingly.  “You showed her your wolf face.”

Scott smiled contently. “I was petrified,” he admitted with a self-deprecating snort. “I couldn’t say no to her, though. She stared at me for what felt like eternity. I kept thinking that she would begin to smell like fear or disgust, that she would turn away and want nothing to do with me.” He turned his head, stared right at Stiles and said, “She kissed me, fangs and all.”

It was a good feeling to know how awed and happy Scott was. Stiles felt pleased for his friend, he truly did. He knew how difficult the secrecy was for both of them, but to know how much they actually cared for each other felt like validation for all of the secret meetings and the sappy messages they had him relay. It would be easier now that Allison had her parents to support her decision, however grudgingly it may be, so he was happy for them both.

“It was the first time that I stopped hating myself,” Scott said quietly. “You know how much I hated what I had become, how _angry_ I was that Derek destroyed my only chance of ever being normal… but the minute she kissed me like that, I truly stopped hating it. Everything else just sort of faded… and then…”

“… You bit her,” Stiles concluded, still not sure he understood entirely.

The other boy gave him a sheepish grin. “Not intentionally,” he said weakly in his defense. He frowned a second later. “I knew what I was doing though. Not… not like I knew, knew, but like I _knew_. It was like something was urging me, some kind of instinct. One moment I was kissing her and the next I was biting her, but somehow it felt right and I knew I needed to do it. I know it doesn’t make any sense.” He scratched his head. “Both of us freaked out after, but the next day, everything was just…”

Stiles raised an eyebrow when his friend cut off with a flush. “ _Really, really good?_ ” he quoted, grinning when Scott nodded jerkily in reply.

“It was amazing, Stiles,” he admitted, voice raw and meek. “There was just this… rush of emotion. I could feel her inside of me.” He touched a hand over his heart and smiled dopily, so Stiles refrained from saying anything inappropriate about his choice of words. “I still can. She is with me everywhere I go. Her feelings, her thoughts… it gets stronger every time we…” He scratched the back of his neck and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Stiles nodded tightly, a sudden sense of apprehension immobilizing him. “You can… feel her emotions?” he asked urgently, licking his chapped lips. “Her thoughts?” He clenched his jaw, mind suddenly full of unpleasant possibilities. Did that mean…? “You can turn it off though, right? Just… not listen?”

Scott frowned thoughtfully, still in an Allison-induced stupor and oblivious to the mounting panic Stiles felt. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never tried.”

Groaning abruptly and sliding down the length of the wall, Stiles landed on the cool tiles and buried his face into his knees. He should have realized it sooner. The sensations he had felt that first day, when he had discovered the mark. Those emotions had risen within him, even though he knew they did not belong to him. He should have known.

“Stiles?” Scott asked in concern, kneeling next to him. “Are you okay?”

Stiles had no answer to that question. He felt anything but okay. He could remember having been devastated into oblivion on the bathroom floor, could recall the feel of someone else inside of his mind and inside his soul. He had felt such warmth, something that embraced him from within, something comforting and intense… and it had been Derek Hale all along.

Somehow knowing that made it all the more frightening. He had preferred when it was just some random presence in his head. He suddenly felt the blood drain from his face as a thought occurred to him. Had Derek felt everything he had that day? Could Derek feel everything he was feeling right _now?_ God, he hoped not! His thoughts and emotions were meant to be private, only divulged to whomever he took into his confidence. Not someone he was still learning to trust. Not someone he was attracted to, someone he genuinely liked.

Stiles did not want Derek to know his thoughts. This was nothing like what Scott described, at least not right now. In the beginning it might have been, but somewhere in the last twenty-four hours, the comforting presence had receded and left him cold and alone. He felt… abandoned. Had Derek… changed his mind? Did he decide he had made a mistake?

Perhaps he should be relieved by that. He was only sixteen after all. He had only just realized he was bisexual over a week ago and he had never been kissed by anyone, not even on a dare. The only thing he knew about stable relationships was the star-crossed romance of a teenage werewolf and his huntress-in-training girlfriend, and the cherished but dim memories of his own parents. He should not be thinking about leaping headfirst into deep commitments.

Now should be the time to experiment and figure out what he wanted. There were a lot of people at his school and since gender was not exactly an issue with him, the playing field had doubled in size. He could probably find at least one person his own age. He already knew his own tastes though. He knew the type of people that sparked his interest. He knew what he wanted, even if it kind of scared the hell out of him.

Except something had changed and he wasn’t sure how to fix it.

Exhaling harshly and listening absently to Scott ask him again if he was alright, Stiles reluctantly lifted his head and stared up at him. Could he tell him? His best friend may not have been there for him about everything recently, but he always listened to the important matters. He thought back to his earlier conversation with Lydia’s mother, about how she thought he should talk to someone… even just his friends. He swallowed thickly and came to a decision.

Pushing away the last of his reservations, he extracted his wrist from where it had been clutched close to him and offered it to Scott. Stiles turned it over slowly until the claiming mark came into view. Watching his friend’s reaction intently, he held his breath and awaited whatever judgment came.

Scott took his wrist gently into his own hand, inspecting the bruise with a critical eye. He lifted his head slowly afterward, his expression carefully guarded. “Is this…?”

“… Pretty sure,” he told him softly, releasing a strangled laugh. “I have no idea when it happened. I woke up one morning and it was just _there_.” He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled roughly. “Is it… is it possible for two people to be dating without one person being aware of it?” He watched Scott blink rapidly and attempt to process the question, but the confusion on his face mirrored his own.

Stiles sighed and drew a hand down his face, turning away to look down the brightly lit hallway instead. This was so messed up. He was being stalked by a homicidal reptilian creature and might have been unknowingly courted by a reclusive werewolf. How was that even real life? He pulled his arm back and stared at the mark.

At least Stiles could honestly say that his life was no longer boring.

“Dating should ideally consist of two willing parties of mutual attraction agreeing to meet at set times to get to know each other right?” he tried again when Scott failed to answer.

Derek was an attractive man. He really, really, _really_ was, and yes, Stiles had been lying to himself for weeks now about it. Derek Hale was totally the beginning of his sexual identity crisis. Who _wouldn’t_ question their sexuality after being pressed up against a door by that man and then watching him strip his shirt off no less than three times afterwards? So yes, there was attraction there. But, a mutual attraction? He had figured it was all one-sided… except now, given the evidence to the contrary, apparently he had been mistaken.

They had been meeting up constantly for the past few weeks as well, although he doubted any of those could be mistaken for dates. … Well. There had been breakfast at the diner and that time they had cooked lunch together, but those were not dates. They had exchanged stories and surprisingly pleasant conversation during those encounters, but there had to be an alternative explanation for all of this.

“There are supposed to be kisses when dating, though,” Stiles reasoned to himself. “There has been a distinct lack of kisses in this relationship, so none of those times were dates… unless licking counts? Because licking has happened.” He nodded thoughtfully, pursing his lips together in contemplation. “On more than one occasion…”

Scott squeaked, his eyes growing round. “Stiles!”

Stiles looked at him, having almost forgotten he was even there. “So, I find men _and_ women attractive.” He threw it out there, because it was confession time and now was as good as any. His best friend had always supported him, at least about all of the important things, and he knew Scott well enough to know he wouldn’t have a problem with it. “Not all men, not all women either, but… yeah, I guess that makes me bisexual. Also, the person I may or may not have been dating unintentionally just happens to be a guy. Go figure.”

“… So…” Scott stuttered out, a flush creeping down his neck. He blinked rapidly and scratched the back of his head as he floundered for words. “… You and Isaac?”

Stiles twitched violently and stared at him with an incredulous expression. “Scott! Bad mental image! No, Scott, just… just _no._ ” He shook his head and groaned. He had already placed Isaac in a very special, unsexy place in his mind. “You took my coming out pretty well though. No freaking out that I might sneak a peek at your junk in the locker rooms? I’ve seen Glee, dude. It happens.”

Scott gave him a skeptical look. “You watch Glee?”

“Oh my God! Seriously?” Stiles scowled. “That’s all you got out of that?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Dude, we used to take bubble baths together. I think you have already seen all there is to see,” he pointed out reasonably. “Besides, I kind of already knew.”

“You kind of already… Do I have it written on my forehead somewhere?” Stiles asked in exasperation, throwing his hands in the air. “First my dad starts asking about _boy trouble_ and now you just _kind of already knew_ about it and what the hell, man? Am I really that obvious?” He had never even said it out loud to anyone before today. Even when he sort of came out to his father, he had phrased it in a way that could have meant anything. How did they both know before he did? Who else knew?

“You pestered Danny all last year about him finding you attractive,” Scott reminded him with a wide smile. “You also mentioned something about feeling attracted to _me_ a few weeks ago and asked if we could try making out to see how it felt.”

Stiles could concede on the Danny thing. He had been pretty obvious about it in hindsight, but the other thing? Not even. “… That was totally a joke.” He knew Scott was attractive. He had been so even before the whole werewolf metabolism kicked in and made his physique twice as impressive as before. But it was just so, so wrong to even think about him along those lines. “Dude, you are like my brother. Can you say incest?”

Scott only smirked at him. “Your heartbeat said otherwise,” he said slyly and Stiles grimaced miserably

“Never speak of this again,” he pleaded, already knowing his best friend was plotting to use this as blackmail material. He narrowed his eyes. “Allison and you had sex, huh? I guess it would be a very bad thing for Mr. Argent to find out that little detail, wouldn’t it? Especially since the last time we saw him, he said something about her virginity and marriage…”

Scott turned ashen. “You suck.”

“Only if you ask nicely,” Stiles snickered, cringing as he and Scott both realized what he had just said. “That sounded less disgusting in my head,” he admitted sheepishly, sharing a look with his best friend. “Not a word, Scott,” he warned when he saw the other boy begin to speak. “Not a word.”

Scott lasted all of thirty seconds before returning to their original topic. “So, not Isaac?”

“No,” Stiles shuddered, wondering if he would ever be able to look at Isaac again without recalling this conversation. “Why would you even think it was him?”

“… Bambi eyes?” Scott replied, quoting him with a guilty smile. “You two seem pretty close lately and you smell like each other. What was I supposed to think after you bring up one-sided dating and licking right after we finish talking about him?”

“Not that.” He shuddered. “Isaac is moving in and he has this thing about touching me, and before you make another smartass comment about that, you’ve been doing it too.” Stiles pointed out, causing his best friend to close his mouth with an audible _click_. “Apparently my whole house reeks of you now. Thanks for that.”

“So who is it, then? The only other guys in the pack are Boyd and Derek.” Scott froze immediately and gave him a pleading look. “Please tell me it isn’t Derek.”

Stiles licked his lips. “… It isn’t Derek?” he said weakly, the words coming out too much like a question for even Scott to misinterpret. The other boy gasped as if the information caused him physical pain and Stiles closed his eyes against the horrified grimace. His friend had made it no secret in the past that he disliked Derek.

Scott had gotten better, though whether he was genuinely giving Derek a chance now or had just gotten better at concealing how he really felt… Stiles didn’t know. He wanted everyone to get along, but the reality was that it might never happen. The reality of that made him uncomfortable and disheartened, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“You are the one who decided to join his pack, Scott,” he breathed out, shaking his head as he opened his eyes again. “You agreed to his terms, so it is too late to be indecisive now about working together.  I know you don’t like him, but I do and this—” He jerked his wrist up. “This is freaking me out, okay? I don’t know what to do. I need you to tell me what this means, because it can’t be what I think it is.”

Scott sobered up quickly, finally grasping just how confused Stiles was, his brows furrowed. “… Are you sure Derek is the one who did it?” he asked him seriously. “It couldn’t have been anyone else?”

“Not unless Peter Hale has risen from the grave, because I seriously doubt any of the others would have done it,” Stiles said wearily. “Derek… when he was all wolfed out yesterday… he bit my wrist. Like it was a reflex, like he did it without thinking and… and you probably can guess what it felt like.”

“I think you need to talk to Derek then,” Scott told him reluctantly. “I barely understand it myself, but I do know that I would never have done this to Allison unless I meant to stay with her forever. I don’t even think I could have done it otherwise. She is my forever.”

 _Forever_ … Stiles repeated the word in his head. Wolves chose their mates in terms that transcended eternity, but if that was true, then why did it feel like his forever had been cut short before he could even come to terms with it? He wished he knew more about this bond. He wished he would have pressed the issue that day when they discussed it. Maybe he would know what to do if he had.

Scott swiveled his head suddenly, looking to the lone window on the far wall of the room. He seemed a bit disturbed by whatever it was he sensed that was beyond human comprehension. “We should probably get to the waiting room now,” he said abruptly.

Stiles drew in a shaky breath. “Derek?” he guessed, not sure if he was hoping for it or dreading it. He wished he could say that his meditation on the issue had given him some insight on how to proceed, but he felt no more prepared about it than he had yesterday. Even his discussion with Scott had just raised more questions than answers. He hoped Derek would be willing to take the lead here now.

Scott nodded in answer to his question. “Someone is with him,” he added anxiously, confusion and irritation lacing his tone. He discreetly scented the air, teeth clenching unintentionally as he tilted his head, ear cocked to the distance. “It is another werewolf.”

“It’s probably the blond chick I told you about.”

“No…” Scott said suddenly, his eyes flashing gold with surprise, suspicion, and a tad bit of aggression. It was a startling transformation from the supportive friend he had been moments ago to this state of agitation, but clearly something had set him off. “It is an alpha.”

 “An alpha?” he repeated curiously.

Neither of them had a very good first impression of alphas after the Peter Hale fiasco last year, but Stiles had to admit that the prospect of meeting another one was not exactly unwelcome. He even thought that having another alpha around might be good for Derek… provided that this one was actually _sane_.

Scott clearly disagreed though, his claws coming out instinctively. “Stay behind me,” he growled lowly, already stalking out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: February 22, 2013 by TamIsMyFather.


	20. Delicate Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The triskelion was an ancient symbol with various meanings across the world, but to his family it was often used in reference to the delicate balance of alpha, beta, and omega.

### Delicate Balance

Derek had hoped that the sense of urgency would dissipate over time, but instead he felt no relief. There was an instinctual earnestness still thrumming within him, making him want to throw the car door open and break into a run if it meant arriving at the hospital sooner. His memory still felt fragmented, memories of exploring the woods and hunting unsuspecting prey beneath the glow of the waxing crescent moon alongside a fellow alpha. The details were vague, but he knew enough to know that he had not been in control of his own mind last night.

It chilled Derek to the core to think what could have happened had Logan not intercepted him and kept him occupied. He could have happened across someone, and perhaps he might have turned them, but more likely than not he would have done something unforgivable. Nothing had happened though, save a lone deer that had the misfortune of living nearby. Venison was nothing new to his diet, not even whole, bloodied, and uncooked, but that had not stopped him from retrieving a toothbrush once they reached his car just to feel cleaner.

Logan had outright refused to let him drive earlier, and Derek decided not to fight him on it since he still felt so anxious. He discussed the current happenings of Beacon Hills as they drove with a surprising amount of reluctance. He knew that Logan was here to help, and that the man needed to know certain things if he was going to be of any assistance, but Derek felt… territorial. He felt _threatened._ He tried to push the feeling down, but he could not disguise the caution in his tone or the clench of his fist when questions were raised about how his pack was formed.

It was far from conventional, the way the pack had come together. From the moment Derek became the alpha, he should have tried harder to coerce Scott to accept him. He could have convinced him, not with useless promises and platitudes, but with true guidance and a stable position within the pack. He might have been able to lure Stiles to himself sooner, had he done things differently from the beginning.

Instead all he had done was alienate them both, and given into the pathetic demands of a petulant Jackson Whittemore. He understood the need the boy had for companionship and true belonging. He was a child, an angry and frightened child, unsure of his place in the world. Had he not come to him that first night, Derek probably would have sought him out eventually just as he had the others. He would have tried to make it work, but Jackson never should have come that night demanding the bite.

Derek had been high off of the sudden onslaught of power, which is why he had made himself scarce the moment everything had calmed down. He had intended to stay away until he had a chance to adjust, but Jackson had come and it had been so easy. He had bitten him, giving in to the desire to form his pack without even considering the consequences. Even worse, once the need to bite had been sated, Derek had simply left Jackson curled up at the base of a rotting staircase without even ensuring he would be alright.

There were many things Derek regretted in this life, but abandoning a young man who already had so many issues with abandonment was definitely one of the worst. He could not imagine what Jackson must have thought of him in that moment, and it was no wonder that the boy wanted nothing to do with him afterwards, even when he began bleeding poisoned blood. He had handled things poorly on all accounts where Jackson was concerned, and he doubted he could ever make it up to him.

The others were a different matter altogether. He had a better sense of who he wanted to form his pack by that point, and it was only in hindsight that Derek realized that he had specifically targeted teenagers.  It was not exactly unorthodox—the younger generations tended to be more open minded when it came to the bite—but he had made things difficult for himself by turning so many teens at once. A lone adolescent wolf was hard enough to deal with, and he had bitten four of them altogether.

Bad choices seemed to be the only kind Derek was capable of making recently… or perhaps ever since he was a teenager himself. It was a pattern that needed to break, and it sounded so easy in theory. The reality of changing his own mindset was more difficult to grasp though. He wondered if any of them—Jackson, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd—would have come to him of their own volition had they had a choice of who turned them.

Under different circumstances, Derek could admit to himself that his uncle would have made a fine alpha. Before the fire Peter Hale had always been somewhat of a sarcastic nuisance, but beyond his constant stream of lewd jokes and blatant admiration for any female in a twenty mile radius, he had also been intelligent, cunning, and strong-willed. He had once even defused a tense situation while simultaneously insulting everyone in the room, and that sort of charisma would have drawn others to him. He could have been so much more had he not been driven insane.

Derek was the complete opposite of his uncle though. He had never really been the type of person that people seemed to gravitate towards, though perhaps that was his own fault. He had trouble letting people in, even in his youth, and those proverbial walls had only strengthened over the years. He knew how some of the people in this town looked at him. There were the fair few who remained unbiased, but being accused of murder had left a stain on him and it was surprising that he had managed to entice as many people into his pack as he had.

None of them would have chosen someone like him, a new alpha barely in control of himself, offering nothing more than the abilities that came with the change, if there had been another choice. Who would want him over an experienced alpha, one who could offer structure, protection, and a real sense of belonging? Derek could recall the excitement Erica displayed at the mere idea of meeting another pack, and abruptly wondered if by bringing Logan here, he was giving his pack an opportunity to discover what they could have instead.

Derek knew they cared. He was not naive, though, and questioned if they would care enough to stay with him. He could lose everything, _would_ lose everything, if Isaac, Erica, Boyd, or even Scott and Jackson realized that he may never be able to offer the same kind of stability that someone like Logan could. Just knowing that made him irrationally defensive, truly threatened that they might choose someone else; he purposely withheld information, omitting several details and sometimes even blatantly ignoring certain questions.

Nothing too important could be left unsaid though. He did try, despite his personal reservations, to give a true account of his time here. He tried to remember that Logan had sired a son with Laura, and that he was… family, as the other man had put it. The particulars of her death were probably as difficult to hear as they were to speak of, but it was necessary to know and the pain of recounting it distracted him from his irrational fears.

Logan only nodded thoughtfully once the final incident involving the kanima was mentioned, and he thankfully chose not to comment on just how tense and defensive Derek had been during the entire conversation. “It sounds as if this creature is fixated on the boy for some reason,” he said, eyes still on the road ahead. “Not only is it specifically targeting him, but it is also targeting anything that it deems a threat to him.”

Derek bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from saying something scathing about stating the obvious. _Fixated…_ He decided he hated that word, though he could not argue that it was not an apt description. Stiles had been the target that night at the pool, just as he had suspected, but having his theory confirmed… it was less satisfying than he would have thought. Perhaps weeks ago things would have been different, but now it just made him feel anxious.

“In my limited experience,” Logan began, his voice taking on an apologetic edge. “Kanima only stalk humans for one purpose.” He offered up no more explanation than that, but then again, he didn’t have to, for both of them knew exactly what that reason was. “They are only vengeance and death, and I have never heard of one… guarding their target.”

Derek had been hoping for more than that. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to be ungrateful, but he could not dismiss the disappointment entirely. “Can you tell me anything?”

“They are shape shifters, though not in the same sense as we are,” he told him. “They do have a human form, but while we can transform at will, a kanima cannot control it at all. I’m afraid that I probably won’t be much help in identifying it, however. That is all I know.”

“… Do you know anyone who might have answers? Like how to kill it?”

“Possibly,” Logan admitted. “It may take me a while to track them down. I know there used to be a sort of expert on rare creatures here, but those sorts of people usually do not stay in one place for long. He may have moved on since. I will look into it though, and I can try some of my contacts in Portland. If nothing else, we may get a lead on where to look.”

Feeling mildly appeased by that, Derek instinctively relaxed into his seat as a familiar heartbeat drew closer. He exhaled slowly, noting the blue sign on the side of the road that indicated just how close they were to the hospital now. “I contacted some other packs as well,” he mentioned. “Most of our old allies were unreachable, but I managed to get ahold of a few of the more established packs. I sent out the letters the same day I called you.”

Logan inclined his head. “You should have some responses in a few days then. We may have all the information we need within a week or so.” He gave him a sidelong glance, brows pinched together in disquiet. “Right now the kanima is not our biggest concern though.”

Derek narrowed his eyes uncertainly. “This is the fourth time it has killed in the past month, and this time it did not stop at just the one victim,” he said in a clipped tone. “It is increasing its attacks, and we need to find it and put it down before it has a chance to attack someone else.”

Logan sighed briefly and his frown deepened. “You are more important than the kanima, Derek.” He said it evenly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “There is a reason wolves in your… condition… need to be carefully monitored. You feel out of control now? Just wait until the full moon rises. Do you know what could happen to you if this is not resolved soon?”

“… Yes.”

Derek was under no illusions. He could already see the changes within him, and it terrified him. He imagined that his uncle had gone through this same struggle at first, unable to cope and forced to endure on his own. His isolation and despair had become something misshapen and dangerous, and Derek had no idea how to stop that from happening to him. He wondered just how he had allowed himself to become this far gone to begin with. He had lost hold of his fragile control last night. He very well could have killed someone, and he would not have even realized it until he woke covered in the blood of his victim.

The old werewolf movies that Derek used to make fun of for their inaccuracies suddenly seemed too close to reality. Failure to control himself was not an option. He knew what it would mean. He would be unable to recognize the difference between his own pack and his enemies; he would kill indiscriminately and jeopardize everything he had worked so hard to achieve. He knew that some hunters, the ones like Kate and Gerard, would not be forgiving. They would judge the actions of one as the actions of all, and that was not something he could risk happening.

Anchoring himself to Stiles had certainly made it bearable to this point, but the call of the moon could be just as treacherous as it was beautiful. He could already envision what would happen if he lost control completely. He was walking a very fine line right now, balancing on the edge of a blade, and he could see no safe way of getting off of it without drawing blood one way or another.

Logan regarded him for a moment and released a sigh. “Now is not the time to discuss this,” he decided. “We can talk more tonight or tomorrow once things settle. Today will be stressful enough as it is… are we almost to the hospital?”

Derek nodded, gesturing ahead of them. “Just a bit further, and to the left,” he replied. “How long were you planning to stay?” He knew the other man had a pack and a territory of his own to keep, so he could not afford to stay gone for too long. And… if he were honest with himself, Derek knew he would not feel comfortable with the other alpha staying for an extended period of time.

“Through the moon at least,” Logan told him. “Even if the kanima is gone by then, you will need support to get through the full moon. You have held on for this long and for someone as untrained for this as you…” He shook his head wryly. “You’ve done a decent job. It will only continue to worsen, though. I will stay as long as I can, but I cannot be gone for more than a month. Probably even less…”

Derek thought it sounded reasonable enough. “Your pack won’t mind?”

“The others can handle everything on their own for a while. My son…” He hesitated, and Derek looked at him with interest. “Max gets anxious if I am away for long.” His face clouded momentarily and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “He thinks that… Laura told him… she would be back and…”

“Laura never came home.” He swallowed, respectfully ignoring the soft, painful hitch of breath beside him. “Max is worried you won’t come home?” He was a bit disappointed that he would not get to see his nephew, but he understood why Logan had left him behind. It was not a good time right now, not until Beacon Hills was safe again. “How is he doing?”

“Not good,” the man admitted reluctantly, a frown set to his mouth. He sighed heavily and said, “He felt it happen… we felt it happen.”

Derek could not contain his own reaction to that news. He visibly flinched and turned away, recalling the sudden emptiness in his own heart the moment he felt his sister get ripped from this world. He had been far enough away for the pain to be mild, but Oregon was a lot closer than New York was. He should have suspected they had felt her loss as well.

The hospital came into view in the distance, ending the conversation prematurely, but neither had much else to say about that anyway. Both were silent as Logan pulled into the parking garage and located a space. He cut the engine and removed the keys from the ignition before returning them to Derek. He gave him a curious look.

“Shall we?”

Derek instinctively tensed at the question. “You… plan to come inside?” he asked, a wary look in his eyes as something in his stomach tightened. “I’m not sure who all is here,” he began cautiously. “But the minute they realize what you are…” He exhaled forcefully, shaking his head. “You know that they will consider you a threat, especially since…”

Especially since Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski were both vulnerable. They were both hurt, still in the process of healing, and the others would not like anyone being near them at the moment. It was a miracle Isaac had kept his head yesterday in the backyard with Theia there, even before he realized who Derek was. He did not want to force them into another situation like that and ask them to ignore their instincts to protect.

“I will take no offense to whatever is said,” Logan said evenly. “We all react badly when one of our own is vulnerable, but this needs to be done sooner than later.”

Derek had to wonder if the other alpha was being intentionally obtuse or if he were just overly confident that the impending confrontation would lack the open hostility that had met the arrival of his cousin the day before. It had been bad enough to imagine how events might play out while Logan was a safe distance away from their injured packmate, but to confront everyone with him now in such close proximity to Stiles and his father…

“Are you really prepared to deal with a handful of agitated, adolescent werewolves this close to the full moon?” he asked him seriously, knowing without a doubt that tempers would flare. He imagined that Scott, in particular, would be particularly volatile right now considering what had happened. Isaac, it seemed, would be level-headed, but the others… he was unsure how they would react. Depending on who was inside, things could escalate even faster, and in such a public area… it could be bad.

Logan seemed calm, however, even with the knowledge that he could very well be walking directly into an ambush of young wolves eager to protect their territory. “The real question, Derek, is not if _I_ am prepared…” He gave him a deliberate look. “But are _you?_ ” He tilted his head in waiting, elaborating only when there was no response. “A strong alpha can keep the whole pack calm, even in the face of an impossible situation.”

It took a few moments for Derek to realize just what he was hinting at. His stomach churned uneasily at the mere thought of it, his face surely echoing the horror that gripped his heart. “… You want me to control their emotions.” He abruptly exited the car and slammed the door closed with perhaps more force than necessary. He braced himself against the roof of the vehicle, exhaling loudly and with anger.

Logan joined him shortly, arms crossed over his chest lightly. He appeared more at ease and calmer than he had any right to be after such a suggestion, but Derek had not told him… he had avoided even bringing up the dark place he had allowed his thoughts to go not more than an hour ago. He released a shuddering breath, averting his eyes, but it was impossible to stifle the anger that had risen.

“No.”

Ignoring the flat, resolute tone, the other wolf regarded him curiously. “It is not as repulsive as you seem to think it is.”

Derek snorted incredulously, his eyes flashing red without his consent. “Taking away their _free will_ is not repulsive?” he demanded, forcefully removing his hands from the metal of his car before he dented it. “Forcing them to submit, when their every instinct is screaming at them to defend themselves? That is not repulsive?” He turned away, relishing the sharp sting of pain that raced through his hands as he balled them into fists, the tips of his claws cutting into the fleshy part of his palms. “I would rather let them tear you apart.”

Logan expelled a long breath, and when he spoke he sounded equal parts exasperated and amused. “Free will? Force them to submit?” His lips quirked up into a smirk, understanding flashing in his eyes a second later. He snorted at the angry silence and shook his head, arms dropping to his sides as he rounded the car to stand beside him. “You seem to be under the misconception that you are all powerful.”

Intrigue piquedunwillingly, Derek reluctantly tried to calm himself. “Not all powerful,” he disputed. “Just more powerful than them…”

“You believe your dominance as the alpha makes them susceptible to your every command?” Logan asked him, his eyes crinkling in amusement when Derek hesitated to answer. “Put those fears to rest, Derek. You are only as powerful as they make you.” He allowed him a moment to take that in before continuing. “Why do you think the need to add to the ranks is so addictive? Being an alpha is not a responsibility to be taken lightly, and there _are_ things about it that are inherent, but ultimately you are the source of the collective strength of the pack.”

“… What do you mean?”

Logan smiled wryly. “I am sure you have noticed that you grow stronger with each new member you accept into your pack. The moment someone accepts you, they enter into an unspoken pact that they will follow you and trust you. In doing so, they lend you a fraction of their strength, and that power will only continue to grow with the more wolves you bring into the fold. Even humans will add to that strength, but it is not yours alone.”

Derek felt some of the tension drain from his shoulders. “The larger the pack, the stronger the alpha,” he said quietly.

It was something every young wolf knew, but it had not occurred to him the reason why it was that way. It made a strange sort of sense though. His own driving need to seek out people to join his pack in the beginning, the satisfying rush at having them all accept him as their alpha… he had known it was addictive the moment he had administered the first bite.

“A pack will submit to the alpha,” Logan conceded. “It is not necessarily by force, though it _is_ a compulsion. One based on that pact, of their obedience to you, the alpha. Though,” his eyes hardened briefly and his tone was resolute. “You will never have absolute control over their thoughts, their emotions, or their actions. You could never truly force them to do something they know in their hearts is wrong.”

Derek honestly did not know how to respond to that. He stared at him uncertainly, seeking confirmation and perhaps absolution for the direction his thoughts had gone earlier. He had panicked for nothing then? The unspeakable desire that had nearly overtaken him earlier was not even possible? Something uncoiled within him then, knowing that even the temptation of using his position to such ends was useless.

“Your will can be exerted,” the other alpha continued. “You can command them to do something and they will do it. However, it is less about control and more about trust. It is their trust in you, as their alpha, that allows you to control a situation to prevent any bloodshed, unnecessary violence, or even just an argument… to a certain extent. The moment you overstep and betray that trust, to try and force them to do something they do not agree with, any illusion of control you had becomes obsolete.”

“… You are saying that abusing it renders it void?”

Logan nodded firmly. “Lose the respect of those who place their trust in you, and you might never earn it back. Lose the trust and respect of the whole pack, and you could revert back into a beta or even become an omega.”

Derek immediately thought of the crest his ancestors had adopted, the one he had tattooed in the center of his back as a reminder. A triple spiral moving in a continuous swirl, all of the spokes connected together at the core and standing equal to the rest. The triskelion was an ancient symbol with various meanings across the world, but to his family it was often used in reference to the delicate balance of alpha, beta, and omega.

An omega could rise to the position of a beta, a beta could rise to the position of an alpha, and an alpha could fall to either. No member of a pack was insignificant, no one more important than the other. They were all connected by the endless, ever-changing spiral. It was a lesson in and of itself, and one best not forgotten.

“A pack relies on the alpha to make the impossible decisions and they follow you out of faith… not because they have to.” Logan might have meant it as a generalization, but something about those last words struck a chord with Derek and he felt they targeted him specifically. “There is no alpha without a pack, at least not a strong one… but then, being an alpha is not about how strong you are.”

“It is about respecting those around you,” Derek said quietly. “Respecting them, and earning their respect in return.” He realized then just how badly he had failed on that front. He had expected respect from his pack, demanding it from them all, but had he ever given them any? He offered praise once in a while, tried to encourage them to do better, but he could not remember respecting any of them the way they deserved to be respected until recently.

“I am not asking you to do anything wrong,” Logan told him. “Not something they will regret later, or resent you for. I am asking you to take command, and control the situation…” He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Are you willing to try?”

Derek ran his tongue over his teeth in thought. He would. He struggled to banish the last of the notion that his pack, the people he had been getting to know, that he had been training with and providing for over the last month or so would so readily abandon him. He rejected the idea that they would become more reliant on an outsider than they were on him.

They would never have a need to search elsewhere for a better alpha, because he would be all that they needed. He could learn. He _would_ learn. He would become someone his pack would want to respect and trust with everything they were. He would provide a home for them, a family, and he would see to it that they all learned some control. Even if it meant confronting his past mistakes and approaching Jackson Whittemore to ensure he was adapting, that he would survive… He would try.

“Yes.”

Logan nodded sharply. “Good,” he said, his eyes glinting with something akin to pride. “I want you to close your eyes. Concentrate on your pack. You should be able to feel them, where they are, what they are feeling…”

Derek did as he was told and was immediately bombarded with the pressing weight of six people pushing into his mind. He winced at the pressure in his head, unable to differentiate anything from the cacophony of nondescript thoughts and emotions that did not belong to him. He had suppressed the sensation as much as possible upon waking, but now that he had brought it back to the surface, Derek found that he could not force it down again.

Logan allowed him a moment to adjust before speaking again. “The ones physically closest to you will be the easiest to locate. Try to separate them from the rest. It will be difficult at first, but it becomes easier with time. Once you have strong individual connections established, you will be able to pick them out with no effort at all. You will eventually even be able to sense them no matter the distance between you.”

Derek blinked rapidly, trying to ignore the throbbing behind his eyes. “You can sense yours from here?” he asked, partly out of curiosity, but mainly to distract himself. He could pick out sensations, though they were all vague; nothing significant stood out, and he couldn’t even tell which direction anything was coming from.

“Yes,” Logan nodded, closing his eyes briefly. “Theia is procrastinating. She has circled the town three times already and is waiting to see if I will call her back, but she seems ready to give up now.”  He shook his head with a huffed breath of amusement. “The others are farther away, so it takes more concentration, but they are all at home. I can tell you that Max is taking a nap in Naomi’s arms, and Chase is right beside them.”

Derek frowned at the unfamiliar names, though he decided against asking right now. His own time with the Montgomery Pack had been rather brief after the fire. He and Laura had left town before child services could approach either of them. Laura had been eighteen at the time and considered an adult, but Derek had only been sixteen. She had feared that, with her lack of occupation or residence, they would be separated. They had made arrangements that night for Peter and left before it could happen.

They had spent a few months moving from town to town, seeking out shelter with various packs that they knew were in the near vicinity. Negotiations usually fell through once the grim circumstances of their situation came to light. Not many wolves had been willing to get involved with and take in a young alpha and her kid brother when hunters had already murdered eight members of their pack.

Laura and Derek had been turned away several times, given nothing but useless, unwanted platitudes of sympathy and condolences, and ultimately asked to leave not more than a few days later. Eventually they had migrated out of California altogether, moving north into Oregon and finally into the territory of the Montgomery Pack. By that point, Derek had not been really interested in learning the names of the people around them, having expected to be turned away again.

“Concentrate, Derek,” Logan chided quietly. “Separate them.”

Derek grimaced with a slight apology and tried to do as he was told. His pack was a small one, only consisting of six other people—possibly soon to be seven if he could somehow mend things with Whittemore, provided he was not the one _fixated_ on Stiles—but converged into one chaotic, indecipherable cluster that made them impossible to distinguish.

“How?” he breathed out, frustrated as the pressure in his head only seemed to increase with his inability to do it right. “How do I single them out?”

Logan thought for a moment. “It helps to remember the finer details,” he said finally. “Try to think of distinguishing scents, features, habits… and do not rely upon any of your other senses. This is purely a mental connection between the alpha and the rest of the pack. See them, _feel_ them in your mind. Picture their hair color… eyes… birthmarks.” He shrugged. “Use whatever stands out the most to you.”

Slightly against the advice of the other alpha, Derek found himself pinpointing Stiles by the sound of his heartbeat. He had done so long before arrival, and it was impossible _not_ to listen to it. He decided to just use it as a point of reference, conjuring up an image of Stiles in his mind with little effort. He could visualize him, a bundle of anxious energy. His eyes, a variation of light browns streaked with amber light, full of playfulness, boundless knowledge, and determination. His hands were strong and capable, with nimble fingers and nails always bitten down to the quick out of a nervous habit. Freckles and moles forming a tantalizing design up his neck, burrowing beneath the clothes in a way that made Derek want to play connect the dots. His scent… it was frustratingly confusing sometimes, always masked by medications, soaps, and detergent, but with just a hint of… something.

And Derek opened his eyes leisurely, suddenly aware of Stiles in a new way. It was similar to the courtship bond that he had initiated, the one that was even now dwindling away into nothing. That one was a deeper connection, but this… this was no less important. He did not get a true sense of emotions or thoughts, but Derek knew even without the steady rhythm thrumming in his ears exactly where he was. He knew he was unharmed. He reveled in the sensation for a moment longer before focusing in on the other alpha in front of him.

Logan was staring at him patiently, a vague smile on his face. “Not so difficult, is it?”

Derek shook his head in answer, and then concentrated on locating the others instead. He began picking out certain parts he knew of each of them. He started with Isaac, smelling of lemongrass, green tea, and graveyard soil. He was always cautious, though his shyness had developed into confidence over time. Isaac often made references that no one but he understood, and he was smart, so incredibly smart, but insecure. He always spoke of his father with a litany of hateful words, but there was always a small blip in his heart that belied the hatred. He loved his father, probably just as much as he feared him, and he desperately tried to hide that fact.

Erica had perhaps changed the most on the outside. She liked to wear bright red lipstick, intentionally drawing as much attention to her soft lips as she could. Her clothing left little to the imagination, the low-cut tops designed to show off her cleavage, the skintight jeans and high skirts clinging to her every curve. Her hair was long and golden, tumbling down in smooth, silky waves, but it kinked up into a knotted mess the moment it got the slightest bit wet. She also had a tendency to blush when the rest of them removed their shirts during a particularly brutal training session, and she rolled her eyes often, feigning annoyance and disgust to hide her amusement and contentment.

Boyd was always quiet, and probably the one that Derek knew the least about. The first time Derek had offered to drive him home Boyd had given him such a wary, mistrustful look. He had been tense the entire time, and the look in his eyes just dared him to make a negative comment about the dire state of the trailer park he had directed him to. Boyd enjoyed his win in lacrosse a few weeks ago, but had admitted he preferred playing basketball with his little sister who played on the girls’ team for the middle school. He was still gradually opening himself up, perhaps more to Erica than anyone else, but he did not trust easily.

And then there was Scott and Allison. The two of them were so intertwined that it was hard to imagine them as separate entities. They were both so full of defiance, of hope, and an unwavering resolve not to be parted even with all odds against them. They both had an innate kindness, an unjaded view of the world, but they were not naive either. There were subtle difference between them, and they knew the challenges they would face, though they clearly believed that their love was worth it. Derek had to admit that for such an odd pairing, they were curiously suited for one another. They were good for each other.

“Stiles is on the third floor of the hospital, and Scott is beside him,” Derek said with utter certainty, deciding not to speak of the slight emotional distress and odd humor he could feel from both of them. “Isaac is pacing in the waiting room, and Erica and Boyd are at the cottage I planned for you to stay in. I imagine they are finishing the preparations for you. Allison is… a bit harder to pinpoint. She feels more like an echo of Scott.”

“Are they mated?” he asked curiously.

“Courting,” Derek admitted.

“Young love,” Logan chuckled briefly. “That explains it then. The Argent girl is human, and she may defer to you, but she has not accepted you. Not entirely, at least. What you feel from her now is a mere extension of the boy, but that will certainly change eventually. How is your head?”

Derek gave him a sour look. “Bearable,” he admitted grudgingly, the pressure in his head having eased over the last few minutes. “Now what?”

“Now we go inside.” Logan moved towards the entrance with confidence, and Derek followed him warily. “Keep your emotions in check,” he advised, walking through the automatic doors. “They will take their cues from you. When you are agitated, they will be agitated. When you are calm, they will be calm. Behave how you expect them to behave.”

“… Excellent advice,” Derek said dryly, raising an eyebrow. “How exactly am I supposed to keep them calm if they decide to ignore me? Project my aura at them?”

“You’re not far off actually. You share a mental connection with them, remember? It is how we are able to communicate with them when in alpha form. You mentioned you were able to project images at your beta, Erica, yesterday right? You showed her how to handle the situation and gave her instructions. This is pretty much the same thing. Just focus on them and let them feel want you want.”

Logan paused before he could touch the button to summon the elevator, eyebrows rising as they both heard the growling a few levels above. Isaac had clearly realized that they were there and he did not sound happy about it. Logan quirked his lips in amusement as they boarded the lift and Derek knew that Isaac meant to intercept the threat. He tried to do as advised, keeping his thoughts as calm as possible and focusing on doing what he had done to Erica yesterday.

Isaac greeted them with golden eyes as they stepped off onto the third door, his countenance openly hostile and his eyes locked solely on what he perceived as a threat. He was breathing harshly, his teeth bared enough that it might have drawn attention to him had he not visibly adopted a sudden tranquil stance. His golden eyes evened back into their natural color, his body no longer vibrating with hostility, though his jaw remained tense and untrusting.

“Logan, this is Isaac Lahey. Isaac,” Derek called out evenly, catching his attention. He watched the boy blink a few times, clearly stunned by his own reaction, but relief washed over his face when he realized who stood before him. The relief quickly transformed into something more akin to anxiety though, and Derek felt a rush of apprehension. “This is Logan Montgomery.”

Isaac nodded tensely, all but dismissing the other alpha entirely. “Derek…”

“What is it? Did something happen to the sheriff?”

“Sheriff Stilinski is doing fine,” Isaac assured him. “He has been waking up off and on for a while now, but he is still paralyzed. It… it’s Stiles.” His faced turned apologetic and upset, and he ran a hand through his already disheveled curls. “Derek… he…”

Derek stiffened. “What?”

Did Stiles not want Derek here? He had wondered if his presence here would have been a welcome one considering what he had done, but… Derek did not want to leave things the way they were. He felt as if the closer he got to Stiles, the more the bond between them began to unravel. The boy had rejected it so thoroughly that the only way to salvage it now would be to renew it with another claim.

Derek knew that would not be happening though. He would be lucky if Stiles would even agree to see him if his severely adverse reaction was any indication. He tried not to feel hurt that Stiles might so easily dismiss him, even after everything they had been through together over the last few months. This was a calamity of his own unintentional desire, so Derek would not be able to find it in him to blame Stiles if he did send him away. There was no course of action left but to see this through to the end, even if he did not particularly like the outcome.

“…and now he’s missing.”

“What?” Derek asked again, suddenly baffled as he caught only the tail end of what Isaac was saying. He frowned to himself as the words caught up, and he could only blink. “Did you just say Stiles was missing?” He felt a pang of panic, though the heartbeat ringing in his ears and the feel of the boy closely approaching put him at ease. “Isaac—” 

“Stiles said he would be right back,” the younger wolf told him urgently. “I thought it would be alright, because the bathroom was just _right there_ —”

“Isaac.”

“—and we tried to find him—”

Derek sighed. “Isaac.”

“—but we lost his scent and now he’s—”

“Isaac.” Derek settled an amused gaze on him. “Stiles is—”

“Right behind you, dude,” Stiles chimed in loudly, a wide smile spread across his face. He released a soft _oomph_ as the startled werewolf spun around suddenly and caught him by the shoulders, dragging him close for an inspection. “Chill, man, no crazy homicidal creature of the night has kidnapped me.” He paused for a moment and then grinned. “Well, not recently.”

Derek narrowed his eyes at the nonchalantly thrown words, unsettled by the casual reminder that his uncle had apparently kidnapped Stiles at some point while he had been imprisoned and incapacitated. He never had gotten a clear explanation for what had happened save for a few spontaneous comments, and though they were clearly meant to temper any unease, they did quite the opposite.

“Who are you?”

Scott had taken up position, shoulders hunched defensively, face wary and aggressive, but his tone was relatively light. He stood directly in front of the pair, his stance mostly blocking the view of Stiles and Isaac. His arms were held loosely at his sides as he awaited an answer. His eyes, however, revealed his state of agitation, and Derek tried to clamp down on any feelings of apprehension that remained in order to keep the beta calm.

Logan regarded him silently, though he answered in an unruffled tone. “Logan Montgomery. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I believe you are… Scott McCall?” He remained silent for a moment, continuing only once he received confirmation by way of a suspicious nod. “That would make you,” he transferred his gaze slightly, giving the young man behind the other an appraising stare. “Stiles?”

Stiles made no attempt to step forward and offer his hand, though he did give the other two a bemused frown as they each preemptively grabbed one of his wrists to prevent just that. “It is nice to know that the silky alpha voice is not just a Hale trait,” he said dryly, trying to shake his friends off to no avail. “There must be an etiquette course available somewhere to teach you werewolves how to be so smooth. Scott here,” he gave his wrist a pointed jiggle, eyebrow raised at the other boy. “He could use some of those lessons himself, eh Scotty?”

For a moment Scott only stared at his best friend with an indecipherable array of emotions crossing his features. The two seemed to be communicating without words in the way only best friends could, through various eyebrow wriggles, vague head gestures, slight eye twitches, nose crinkles, and finally a bright smile from each. Scott released the captive wrist with little more than a sigh, and then Stiles prodded Isaac until the other boy did the same.

Derek felt frustratingly out of sorts by the time Scott moved to offer Logan his hand, a gesture that neither alpha had expected at all. He watched in bafflement as the two grasped each other, shaking hands politely, wondering if he had put just a bit too much _calm_ into trying to defuse the situation. He shook his head, instinctively seeking out Stiles for an explanation as to why his best friend had suddenly decided to be friendly, but his breath caught at the thoughtful look on his face.

“We should probably stop crowding the elevator,” Scott said brightly. “The orderlies get a bit upset when we block them, and the nurses are vicious… just don’t tell my mom I said that. The waiting room is this way…” He was already walking down the hallway by the time Derek decided to look, Logan walking idly beside him. “So… Logan, huh? Any relation to Wolverine?”

Derek stared after the odd pair in bewilderment, their voices quieting as they moved further down the hall and toward the waiting room. He returned his attention back to Isaac and Stiles as the former gave a sudden hiss, the young wolf frowning accusingly at the human as he rubbed at his own side. Stiles, once again, raised an eyebrow.

“… Why did you…” Isaac glanced between the two of him, and suddenly his expression cleared and his eyes filled with comprehension. “Oh. Oh, I’ll just…” He coughed a bit, jerking his head vaguely in the direction Scott had herded Logan, and suddenly he was making his way toward the waiting room as well. “ _Do_ not _want to be there for this conversation…_ ” he uttered under his breath as he went, and soon it was just the two of them.

Derek had the sudden insight that the room had been cleared to give him and Stiles some semblance of privacy, and felt a burst of gratitude to the others for allowing this. He cautiously met the young man’s gaze, idly wondering if the three of them had planned this in advance, or if the two wolves were just more perceptive than he gave them each credit for.

There was a strangely pensive gleam in Stiles’ eye; his gaze was filled with confusion, with weariness, and somewhere in the honeyed irises seemed a desperate hope for Derek to make all of this right between them. He took a small breath, knowing that he had a small window of opportunity now to explain himself and maybe repair some of the damage he had done. No more obscuring his intentions or evading the truth, and no more blaming his instincts for the thoughtless reaction that had caused him to try and secure what he wanted before someone else stole it away from him.

This would probably be the only chance to do this, and Derek intended to rectify what he had done in any way that he could before their frail friendship became irreparably broken. “Can we talk…?” He kept his voice quiet, respectfully subdued, and released the breath he had been unintentionally holding when the boy nodded in return. He began walking, slowly enough that Stiles fell into step beside him mere seconds later.

There was a physical distance between them, something that echoed the growing detachment inside in the worst possible way. He had no idea where to even start to explain his actions. He struggled to find the words as they walked, following Stiles as he navigated them through the hospital and up a staircase. They exited the building, stepping out onto a small balcony, resisting the urge to snort at the acrid smell of the ashtrays near the benches.

Derek watched silently, no closer to finding his voice than he had on the walk up here as Stiles moved toward the cement wall that acted as the railings of the small balcony. He rested his forearms atop it and surveyed the vast trees that laid beyond the parking lot below, and Derek took up position beside him silently. He studied the view for inspiration, eyes automatically moving in the direction of his childhood home, hidden within the heart of the woods.

“My parents thought I had been born human when I was young,” Derek told him quietly, deciding if he had to begin somewhere, it was best to start at the beginning. “Most werewolf babies transform for the first time on their first moon, but apparently I slept through it unchanged. It is not uncommon for a human to occasionally be born to two wolves, but both my brother and my sister had been born wolves, so it came as a surprise.”

Stiles turned his head, something flickering in his eyes, but he remained quiet and allowed Derek to gather his thoughts. He was surprised to realize that he suddenly knew what he wanted to say. His mother had always told him that honesty was the best policy in any relationship, and considering just how happy she had been with his father during their long years of marriage, he suspected she had known what she was saying.

“It took a few years for anyone to realize that I was a wolf, and even then it was only when I was six and fell off of my bicycle for the first time and the wound healed. I had always had the senses, the healing, and the instincts, but otherwise I was mostly human. We call it latent manifestation. Some wolves just need a while for it to develop right, and it took me until puberty before I had my first transformation.”

Stiles grinned wryly. “You were a late bloomer?”

“Something like that,” Derek agreed. “Once it manifested, I had to learn how to control it. My parents explained it all to me, but the one thing they stressed the most was finding an anchor. Anchors are something personal, something that is important enough that it transcends the baser needs that come with the transformation and can guide us back to ourselves if we get lost. It can be an object, an emotion, a place… sometimes it can be a person. Most children use their parents. Anchors… they can change over time too, as new things become important to us. ”

“… What was yours?”

Derek drew in a subtle breath. “For a long time mine was my baby sister, Emily. She used to crawl into bed with me when she had nightmares. Her favorite movie was that one with the princess who got turned into a swan because the prince had my name. She liked walking outside barefoot and climbing trees, no matter how many times we told her not to. She was my anchor until I was sixteen.”

“The Swan Princess,” Stiles told him abruptly. “The name of the movie was the Swan Princess… it was based off of the ballet of Swan Lake. Prince Derek is a bit of an ass in the beginning.” He grinned, and Derek found himself unable to keep himself from smiling back. “He redeemed himself eventually though.”

Derek snorted. “I know,” he admitted. “I have seen that movie so many times that I could probably quote it word for word.” His smile dimmed. “It is always dangerous… when relying on a living anchor. Changing from time to time is no issue when voluntary, but when something is… just _gone_ …” He swallowed thickly, shaking his head. “Strong emotions are easier to latch onto when that happens, and I settled on the ones I felt the most after the fire… At first it was guilt, for the part I played in their deaths…”

“… Derek.” Stiles straightened, eyes widening. He shook his head earnestly, reaching out to brush his fingers against him. “No, you…”

Derek stared at the hand touching him, feeling the warmth emanating from it and selfishly taking a small amount of comfort. “It was too unstable that way though. Too much sadness bled through and mixed with the guilt. It was my fault, but even the remorse was not enough to keep me grounded. I chose to use anger instead, fueled by the hate I felt for Kate Argent for using me as an instrument to murder my whole family.”

Stiles shook his head again, adamantly, his eyes suspiciously bright. “It was _not_ your fault, Derek. You were… you were _my_ age. You were a kid,” he told him, shuffling close enough that Derek could breathe in his scent without being too conspicuous. “She took advantage of you, and you are not responsible for her actions. She is to blame. Not you. Never you.”

It was a nice thought, but Derek could not bring himself to believe it. “One of these days,” he said instead of acknowledging the words. “You are going to have to tell me how you knew… how you figured it out…” He sighed. “She posed as a lifeguard, at the school. I was on the swim team, and she was older, attractive, and she flirted with me every time she saw me… I thought I was in love with her. We…” He hesitated again, his jaw clenching before he managed to reign in his own shame and resentment. “We were intimate.”

Stiles said nothing to his confession, but his jaw tightened enough that Derek could hear his teeth gnashing together. He watched Stiles ball his hands up in anger, his knuckles bone white as the thin skin stretched to the limit. Derek reached over hesitantly, taking one hand in his own and turning it over. The long sleeve was easily pushed back, exposing the small mark there.

Derek traced it with his eyes, a bit surprised that it was still so dark considering that the bond was barely there anymore. He dared not touch it yet though; he knew it would probably still be too sensitive to his touch. “I claimed her,” he admitted softly. “It made her happy, the little bruise on her wrist. I thought it meant everything, and because I was a besotted idiot with lousy control, the next time we had sex I made the bond permanent by biting her on the neck.”

The warm hand suddenly moved away from his arm, and suddenly Derek found himself encircled by long, thin arms. Stiles had apparently given up all pretenses, throwing any semblance of caution to the wind, and Derek breathed him in gratefully. He and Stiles were roughly the same height, but he felt small in his arms right now.

“… The next morning Kate Argent burned my family alive,” he managed to say, his own arms acting of their own accord, impulsively curling around Stiles’ waist carefully. He burrowed deeper, basking in the comfort with eyes burning and wet, and confessed, “I felt the pleasure she took in it, in killing them all. She was so… so _proud_ of herself.” He felt the gentle hand kneading the back of his neck and sighed. “I hated her then. For six years…”

Stiles shushed him quietly, hands roaming down the length of his back and up again, rubbing and squeezing at his neck and his shoulders in a seemingly random pattern. “You don’t have to tell me anymore,” he told him brokenly, his breath shuddering. He seemed to be shaking even more than Derek was. “It’s okay. Everything is… will be okay. We will be okay.”

The offer was a tempting one, and Derek understood it for what it was. It was not simply a chance to avoid the difficult conversation today and resume it at a later date; Stiles was offering him the chance to completely walk away from it. He was offering to never press for answers again. He was willing to ignore the problem at hand, even if it meant he never understood just why Derek had done this. He was giving him an out.

Derek refused to take it though, because it meant giving up too and that was not something he was willing to do. Only one course of action now, and he would see it through to the end. “My anger and hate for her was my anchor,” he continued determinedly. “Until she died… and then I became the alpha and began forming my pack and it became hard to hold onto my anchor. It was hard to be angry when being with them made me smile, and laugh… care. So I had to find a new anchor… and I chose you.”

Stiles stiffened at that, his ministrations faltering briefly. He turned his head slightly, soft cheek pressed tight against his own. “… Why?”

Why indeed? Derek had asked himself that a million times since he realized what he had done. He could be cruel and say that he had needed an anchor and Stiles had just been available, but it was not entirely true. Derek could have picked anything to ground him, could have picked _anyone—_ Isaac, Erica, Boyd—and he had picked Stiles. It had been an impulse at the time, and he did not understand it himself. He could not bring himself to regret it though, and he doubted he would ever really understand why he had initially done it.

“Beats the hell out of me.”

Stiles huffed out a startled laugh, pulling away enough to see his face. He studied him for a moment, breathing shallow and eyes turning uncertain. He stepped back, one arm dropping while the other one rose between them, bruised wrist facing up and on display. “You did this?”

Derek nodded without hesitation, owning up to it. “Yes, I did.”

“Does it mean what I think it does…?”

“That depends,” Derek told him tentatively. “On what you want it to mean.” Stiles licked his lips, drawing in a breath, but waiting for him to elaborate. “A claim is temporary, a way to sense compatibility and accelerate the courtship… it will dissipate in a few days if that is what you want.” He tried not to be discouraged by the lack of response and pressed on. “But… if you are willing to… to try…”

Derek moved his own hand slowly, hovering long enough that his intention to touch the young man was obvious. Stiles made no objection, said nothing in protest, and Derek gently rested his fingertips against the soft skin of his cheek. He relished in the soft hitch of breath he received, the young man not attempting to pull away, and instead actually leaned into the touch.

“Is this what you want?” Stiles asked, his voice near silent, and confusion still prominent in his eyes.

Derek held his tongue, silencing the immediate response that rose within him. He trailed his fingers lower, down the smooth expanse of his neck and to the slightly reddened skin there. It had been from him, he realized, possessiveness surging through him at the sight of his mark there, despite the high collar of the shirt strategically placed to hide it. He closed his eyes briefly, struggling to contain the pleasure it gave him to see it.

“Forget about what I want,” Derek told him finally, reluctance coloring his tone despite his best efforts to conceal it. “This is… not something I expect you to consider based upon what I want. This is your decision and whatever you choose…” He ran his finger over the rash one last time before forcefully extracting his hand. “I will respect it.”

Stiles bit down on his lip. “What if I have already decided?” he asked boldly, and Derek was unable to prevent the way his eyes flashed crimson at the insinuation. He had held back this long, containing his reactions as much as possible, but Derek was surrounded by his scent and could still feel the warmth of his touch upon his back and he abruptly marched forward with intent.

The young man drew in a sharp breath of alarm, stumbling backwards so quickly that he managed to trip over his own two feet, but Derek caught him with one arm snaking around his waist and the other curling around the side of his neck right before he pushed him into the wall. He stared at him with one thumb pressed against the rapid flutter of the pulse that rang like a welcoming symphony in his ears.

Derek heaved a tremendous breath, straining with the effort to not simply capture the plump lips so close to his own in a demanding kiss, to not press himself bodily against the lean form and simply devour and _take_. He knew one taste would not be enough to sate the sudden hunger he felt, and rushing this was what had almost ruined it before. He had pushed it, tried to force it, and he would not be making the same mistake twice.

“No,” Derek breathed out. His voice was softer than he had been anticipating it to be, especially considering the state of his own nerves at the moment. He gently pressed their foreheads together, allowing their heated breaths to mingle momentarily as he tried to calm his racing heart. “No. This is something you will think about.”

Stiles sighed softly, the combination of disappointment and relief in his tone enough to reassure Derek that he was making the right decision now. Neither of them were ready for this yet, not in the way that it would mean to him. He was damaged and jaded from past experiences and Stiles… he was painfully young in this instance, unsure of what he wanted. As temporary as a claim could be, it was definitely not easy to release entirely, and for this to happen he needed Stiles to be sure about what he wanted.

Derek would have no choice once another claim had been made. He was desperate now to take what Stiles offered. “ _What if I have already decided?_ ” He would never be able to release the bond a second time, not if this is what it felt like the first time.It was agonizing, to know he had what he wanted so close within his grasp, but just still cruelly beyond his reach.

“Do not tempt me again,” Derek told him seriously, lips ghosting against his own in a way that made him want to throw his head back and howl in triumph. He drew back quickly, licking his own lips and allowed himself to wonder if the sweet taste in his mouth was what the inside of Stiles’ mouth tasted like. “Not unless you are sure.”

Stiles nodded slowly, eyes reflecting understanding. “Okay.”

Derek released him abruptly. “Good,” he said, blinking and backing away. He gave him one last look, savoring the image of him leaning back against the wall for support, and suddenly realized that he needed to get the hell out of here before the tantalizing image drove him to do something he knew they would both regret.

Visualizing the faces of Isaac and Scott, he drew the odd duo of young wolves to the forefront of his mind and implanted the strong suggestion that they come find Stiles immediately and escort him back. He lingered only long enough to make sure that they had received the order, both hearing and feeling their approach.

With that taken care of, Derek felt relatively safe in leaping over the railing of the balcony. His body automatically compacted, legs drawing up tense and ready, and he landed in a steady crouch on the asphalt below. Derek straightened out and adjusted his shirt, briefly turning his head to gaze back up at the boy leaning over the rails to look at him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and began to walk away, confident now that things between them were okay between them if not entirely alright.

“… So does that mean no more licking for now?” Stiles called down to him, his laughter loud and contagious as Derek tripped over his own two feet.

Derek nodded his head, smirking to himself. “For now…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited May 29, 2013 by TamIsMyFather.
> 
> Here it is! For those of you who don't know, I had to purchase a new computer. If you want the boring details, I explained it all in a post on my tumblr page at writinginthecandlelight.tumblr.com. The next update will not take me four months to deliver now that I have the means to work on it :)


	21. Blissful Ignorance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no such thing as blissful ignorance, not when there were werewolves and lizard people going around murdering people; the fact that his father was where he was now was a clear testament to that truth.

### Blissful Ignorance

For the first time in over four months, everything seemed to finally be going right for Stiles Stilinski. He had been wary of it at first; he hadn’t exactly trusted everything not to go wrong unexpectedly since that seemed to be a reoccurring pattern, but the dust appeared to be settling… at least for a little while. He figured he should enjoy it while he had the chance. He was currently resting, mindlessly flipping through a comic book while his new housemate went through the tedious task of unpacking and organizing.

The appointment to have the staples in his side removed was steadily approaching, and Stiles kept his eyes on the clock in anticipation for when they would leave. He was ready to be done with this. Stiles needed to put it all behind him. He was ready to forget about it, and until the unsightly bits of metal were finally gone, he knew he was just going to keep thinking about what had happened. He would much rather think about the unspoken agreement he and the resident surly alpha had come to last night.

Exploring what had steadily been growing between them for a while now was something Stiles was admittedly eager to do, despite his initial misgivings. He was content with where they stood now, if not yet entirely satisfied. Derek was allowing him time to adjust, giving him time to think about it, and the sentiment was greatly appreciated. This, whatever it was, was intense and intimidating and overwhelming, and Stiles had no idea what he was doing.

Scott had helped, probably more than either of them had initially realized. He had maintained a sense of the claiming bite as an uncontrollable instinct—something that had needed to be done, even if Scott hadn’t realized he even needed it. It gave Stiles a lot to think on. He was still unsure _when_ Derek could have possibly done it to him, but knowing that Derek had not meant to do it the way he had went a long way in helping him understand it. The way Derek spoke about anchors and his family… that had given him a lot to think about too.

Everything had been going smoothly today though. He hoped it continued.

Looking up from the comic book, Stiles raised an eyebrow as his new housemate released a sudden curse and ran a hand through his disheveled blond curls. Isaac had returned from his hearing earlier this morning in great spirits. The emancipation had gone smoothly, and now Isaac was considered an adult in the eyes of the law. There had been little doubt that things would not work out, not when Isaac had the Sheriff of Beacon County on his side, but the other boy had been a bit worried initially.

They had stopped briefly at the Lahey house in order to retrieve a duffel bag of some essentials to last until this weekend, when the rest of the pack would help bring over his furniture and the rest of his personal belongings. Isaac had already admitted that he would prefer his own twin bed over the queen that currently sat in the room, and the smaller bed would make room for the matching desk and bookshelf. He wanted to make the room his own.

“Everything okay there, Isaac?” Stiles asked him curiously, casually folding the comic up and setting it aside. The other boy made a noncommittal sound in reply, but his attention was mainly on the picture frame he held almost reverently in his hands.

Isaac sighed. “Yeah,” he said quietly, coming to sit beside him. There was a crack in the glass, right down the center that obscured the photograph beneath. The young man in the picture was wearing camouflage fatigues, and Stiles knew by the resemblance to the boy beside him that this was Camden Lahey. “It must have broken on the way over here.”

Stiles nudged his shoulder gently, giving the broken glass a considering look. “You know, we might have a frame that will fit it up in the attic. They might be a bit dusty, but we can clean one up in no time.” He grinned when Isaac gave him a reluctant smile, but adopted a more serious expression when he spoke again. “This is your brother, right?”

“Camden. He would have been twenty-four this year,” he volunteered, clearing his throat slightly as he placed the broken frame upon his bedside table gently. He scratched lightly at his forehead and changed the subject. “We should probably get ready. Your appointment is in an hour, and you mentioned you wanted to check on your dad, right?”

It was a clear evasion, but Stiles understood all too well how difficult it could be to speak about someone when it hurt so much. He shuffled down the hall and into his own room to grab a pair of shoes while Isaac retrieved his wallet and the keys to his truck, and then they made their way down the stairs carefully. He was getting better at moving on his own, and even insisted upon it, but Stiles knew the other boy hovered over him in wariness until they reached the bottom landing. 

The trip to the hospital this time was a lot less urgent, especially since Isaac actually obeyed the laws of the road this time. His father was already sitting upright in bed when they arrived. There was an open manila folder spread out across his lap, and the lines in his forehead were more pronounced as he scanned through the contents. He looked upset, his mouth turned down grimly and his hands trembling. It looked like the files on what happened the other day.

His father had finally been able to move by the time Derek and his alpha friend had vacated the premises yesterday afternoon. He was still experiencing some tingling sensation throughout his limbs, phantom remnants of the unnatural paralysis, but was expected to make a full recovery. He was scheduled to be discharged today too, along with all of the others of what the newspapers were calling the _Police Station Massacre_. And really, with a name like that being thrown around, no wonder it had attracted a lot of statewide attention.

Just as with the previous unexplained murders involving Peter Hale, there were a lot of strange badges turning up without warning to conduct their own investigations. There had been no word from Chris Argent if any of the new suits and uniforms were aware of what had really happened and were offering up their hunting expertise or if they were really just state detectives that had been called in. Time would tell, but it was a worrying thought; there were enough hunters in town.

Stiles could only imagine how conflicted his dad felt right now. There might not have been a whole lot of sympathy for the hunters for what they did, because Stiles knew he could be vindictive sometimes. But he sympathized with his father. The only real victims had been the same assailants that had hospitalized his son not more than a week ago. His father had not been allowed to join in with the investigation, not when there was such a large conflict of interest there, but the hunters had still been contained within his precinct and had been brutally murdered on his watch with his own people caught in the crossfire.

This had to be difficult for him to accept.

Stiles walked into the room slowly, the tightness easing a bit in his stomach when his father looked up and his face visibly softened. He moved to sit in one of the chairs, giving the man a quick once-over to ensure he was truly okay. He looked better, that was certain, his skin no longer pale and feverish. His hands still trembled slightly, and Stiles knew it was probably from the phantom tingling sensation that lingered long after the paralysis ceased.

“Hey, kiddo.” His father smiled through the warm greeting, and Stiles caught the offered hand in his and held on tightly as he dared. His throat felt constricted, just as it had yesterday, and he gave the man a miserable stare. “Consider this payback for what you put me through last week, so now that we’re even, let’s agree to no more death-defying stunts for a while.”

Stiles snorted despite himself at the calm, almost catty words that soothed any lingering anxiety inside of him. He shook his head. “The way we get into these scrapes and get out of them,” he said sagely, knowing his father got the reference by the way he raised his eyebrows. “It’s almost as though someone was dreaming up these situations… guiding our destiny.”

“… You had a marathon without me?” his father sniped with a petulant harrumph. “You know how much I love Adam West.”

Isaac decided to chime in with a tentative explanation. “Stiles took it upon himself to help me go through my movie collection earlier while I unpacked,” he said timorously, shuffling beside Stiles and tugging at the frayed hems of his sleeves. “He has been citing his favorites all morning long. He did a great impression of Ferris Bueller earlier.”

            The man nodded in understanding, and turned to give Stiles a look. “Well, my days of not taking you seriously are certainly coming to a middle.”

            “Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!” Stiles cried, grinning wildly.

Although Isaac did not join in with the sudden mindless banter, his bright eyes observed the two of them with unbridled curiosity as they began a quote war. He looked a bit bewildered to see the older man shooting off so many quick retorts word for word and keeping up with Stiles effortlessly. Stiles got it though. He knew most people looked at his father and only saw Sheriff Stilinski instead of John Stilinski. There was a subtle but distinct difference between the serious sheriff and the quick-witted father.

People seemed to forget that Stiles had gotten his awesomeness from _somewhere_. Seriously, where did everyone think the trademark dry wit had come from? He might have spent most of his childhood learning to cook with his mother, but he had always idolized his old man, and tried to emulate him as much as possible. His father usually kept a pretty professional demeanor while in uniform, but that did nothing to temper the ability to use sarcasm. He was more open at home, and this sort of thing had once been commonplace.

Things had not been the same for a while now. They had been drifting apart for quite some time, slowly, progressively, and Stiles knew that most of it was his fault. He was the one who had done this to their relationship. He was the one who kept lying, the one who kept deflecting, the one who kept _avoiding_ talking just because it hurt sometimes; it hurt so badly to see the suspicion and the weariness reflecting in the eyes of his father.

The banter ended prematurely as both his father and Isaac sensed the subtle change in his mood. Stiles was grateful when the other two decided to discuss how the emancipation hearing had gone instead and he just sat there, inspecting the slight tremor of his father’s hand as he held it in his own. He had gotten hurt because of Stiles. Maybe it had not happened directly, but it still happened because of the connection they shared and just how deeply intertwined Stiles was in the supernatural.

Stiles had only wanted to protect him. He had lost his mother and it had devastated him… he couldn’t bear to lose his father too. He needed to keep him safe, but in doing so… he was hurting them both. He wondered sometimes which the lesser evil was: keeping him ignorant through the web of lies that Stiles was steadily getting lost in or allowing him to be conscious of just how dangerous a situation this really was and just how deeply Stiles was involved in all of it.

Lines were already beginning to blur. He couldn’t help but feel that the two worlds were crossing over in a terrifyingly personal way, and there was a selfish part of Stiles that was desperate for the artifice of his own design to finally come crumbling down. He felt disgusting for his desire to be able to look his father in the eye again even if it meant placing him directly in the path of harm. He hated himself for wanting it, and even just considering it made a cool sweat trickle down the back of his neck.

Stiles just… needed to keep him safe more, to keep him _alive_. He knew his father was already a target though, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. He had been hurt because of this, more than once now, and it was just going to get all the more worse now that Stiles knew for certain that the kanima wanted something from him. There was no such thing as blissful ignorance, not when there were werewolves and lizard people going around murdering people; the fact that his father was where he was now was a clear testament to that truth.

 “You look tired.”

The quiet observation drew Stiles away from the dark place his mind had gone. He looked up slowly, unable to find words for a moment. “Yeah…” he said quietly, clearing his throat and offering up a sheepish smile. “Yeah. Had this overprotective upstart—” he jerked his thumb in the direction of Isaac “—not manhandled me into his truck last night, I probably would have slept in the waiting room. We got home pretty late too.”

“I’m guessing that the new meds are part of the reason you seem so tired too,” he said, a bemused smirk forming on his face when Stiles winced slightly. “You have been taking your medication, right? Because you were prescribed those pills as a way to help you get through the pain of recovering from a physically traumatic surgery. Not so they could sit in the medicine cabinet untouched while you suffer in silence.”

Stiles bit down on his bottom lip, a wide smile plastered on his face. “That depends on what you define as my medication…?” He sighed when the man merely presented him with his unimpressed glare. “I might have skipped a couple doses,” he admitted. “But in my defense, the oxycodone interacts with the Adderall to turn me into some complacent little pod person that only has the need to sleep.”

“Stiles…” His father heaved a heavy sigh, a sympathetic but unyielding gleam in his eyes. He knew what was coming before the man even opened his mouth. “The pain pills are not up for negotiation. You will take them as the damn label directs you to until you can take five steps without wincing.”

Stiles groaned to himself, but did not protests against it. “Fine…”

“Your appointment is soon, so I also suggest you talk to Dr. Wells about forgoing your regular medication until then.” His father squeezed his hand gently, smiling wryly when he looked up. “I know this is hard for you, kiddo. I know. But humor your old man, okay? I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

How could Stiles argue with that logic? He smiled reluctantly and nodded at the compromise. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Maybe I could just live off of coffee for a while instead.”

Isaac snorted quietly. “Coffee?” he repeated with a hint of skepticism. He glanced between the two of them in confusion. “Caffeine is the absolute last thing you need. It would probably do more harm than good. You would probably bounce off of the walls.”

The comment was said lightly, but it was still very surprising and a tad bit tactless. Stiles tried not to be hurt by it. He was used to comments like that and he really should have expected it at some point. Most people tended to react the same way, especially when they discovered the main drive for his inability to sit still and never shut up. Not all shared the same misconceptions about it, but it happened often enough to leave an impression.

Stiles had been young enough not to really care, but old enough to remember the first time he had heard of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. It had been such a mouthful, and even the abbreviated version had been too much for him to pronounce right at first. His failure to sit beside other children at school without talking to them had irritated his teachers, and his inability to stay on task with his homework without being distracted by a completely random subject had annoyed his parents.

Being diagnosed had been nothing more than trial and error. Stiles had been resistant to the idea of going to the doctors for tests, but there had been no real tests involved. His parents had done most of the talking anyway, answering a multitude of questions about his behavior, and then he was prescribed a trial medication for a month to see if it helped. It had been a very weird experience, because it had made his head feel like there were bees buzzing around inside and the world felt slow.

The amphetamine salts had definitely worked well enough to give a conclusive diagnosis, and after the trial period was over, everything else was just determining which medication and which dosage worked best for him. Adderall had been the best suited for him in the end. Sometimes his medication gave him headaches or made it impossible for him to sleep, but it helped soothe his nerves and helped him focus.

Sometimes Stiles would miss a dose and end up completely hyperactive for a while until he remembered. Scott usually recognized the signs when that happened though. He was often the one who reminded him he had forgotten and needed to take it. It happened more frequently now than it did when they were younger, but Stiles blamed that on the fact that his mother was no longer around to constantly remind him, and that this crazy werewolf drama was incredibly sidetracking on the best of days. His best friend had never failed him there though. He kept him on track, sometimes even sending off little text messages to prompt him.

Not to mention Scott bought him coffee and energy drinks, which made him the bestest best friend _ever_. His best friend understood that the caffeine did not affect him like it did other people. He associated caffeinated beverages with something that enabled Stiles to find peace when he felt too jittery, as something to clear his mind so Stiles could concentrate when everything around him was far too distracting. Not as something that made him hyper.

The fact that everyone just automatically assumed that it would make Stiles go bat-shit crazy usually just pissed him off a bit. He would usually smart off with technical terms on why the exact opposite was true when people made those kinds of assumptions, because watching them flounder sent a vindictive pleasure through his stomach. This was Isaac though, mild, kind, overprotective Isaac, who made him grilled cheese sandwiches past midnight and let him rifle through his limited edition comics.

Isaac, who still had managed to piss him off, but in this instance, had managed to make the denunciation sting more than usual. Stiles could take most of the things people said. He really could. Not all of them were even that bad when they found out about his disorder, like Derek, who had taken it all in a stride and had just said, “ _That… actually explains a lot,_ ” in reply when Stiles mentioned it at the diner a few weeks ago. But some people said worse things, and coming from someone he cared about… yeah, dude, _ouch_.

There was a long, tense moment as Stiles pursed his lips and turned his head away from the other boy. It was completely unsurprising, however, that his father noticed his reaction. His eyes hardened rapidly as his metaphorical hackles rose in response to the wounded expression that Stiles was unable to mask entirely. His father knew him too well.

“Actually, Isaac,” the man said, his voice entirely too light to be genuine, and it was something that both boys realized immediately. Isaac tensed straightaway, his countenance guarded and wary, obviously on the defensive at the tone. “Caffeine has the opposite effect on my son, and it usually helps him concentrate and calm down. To be honest,” he cast a speculative eye to Stiles quickly, “I was surprised to find the surplus of energy drinks in our garage gone a few weeks ago. He usually can’t last a day without guzzling a few of them.”

All at once Isaac lost his cautious demeanor, the wind in his sails cutting off so suddenly that he was clearly dead in the water. His eyes widened slightly and then his neck reddened as he shuffled his feet. Stiles narrowed his own eyes at the behavior, suspicion setting in on who the _real_ culprit had been in the unfair misappropriation of his sweet beverages. The guilty expression that flashed over the other teen’s expression was confirmation enough.

“Oh…” Isaac said softly, his hands shoving deep within his pockets. He looked up reticently and flashed those almighty powerful doleful eyes at Stiles that crumbled the righteous indignation that had been building in his chest to dust. “Sorry.” His expression was genuinely contrite, and Stiles recognized the apology as one for both the theft and for the comment.

Stiles rolled his eyes, a reluctant smile quirking his lips. “Whatever, man,” he said warmly with a shrug. “You owe me coffee by the way.”

Isaac nodded quickly. “We can grab some after your appointment,” he said, glancing at his watch. He looked up apologetically again. “Which happens to be in fifteen minutes. We should probably go get you signed in now so you’re not late.”

Reluctance kept Stiles in place until he felt his father squeeze his hand in reassurance, the man pulling away afterwards with a smile. “Go on, kiddo,” he said. “My doctor should be coming by soon with my release papers, so we can all go home when you’re finished. Then you can feed me some healthy monstrosity to enact your vengeance.”

Stiles snorted, a wide smile spreading across his reluctant face. “I am going to make you regret those extra slices of pizza, old man,” he promised darkly, standing slowly and impulsively reaching down to hug him. “Try not to flirt too much with your nurses, okay? There is only so much of that Stilinski charm these poor people can handle.”

“Speak for yourself, kid,” the man scoffed, eyebrows raised challengingly. “Hale followed you around like a lost puppy the other night.”

The comparison made Stiles giggle with uncontrollable glee. He cackled and shared a look with Isaac, who was evidently struggling to contain his own laughter judging from the smirk on his face. His father did not understand the hilarity of his own words, and that made it all the more humorous, because it was also _true_ in more ways than one. He waved them away though with only a slightly bemused smile on his face at being out of the loop.

Ten minutes later Stiles rose from the uncomfortable waiting room chairs when his name was called. He had sunk deep in the chair when the nurse had practically mutilated his first name, struggling to pronounce it for several minutes before just calling out for Mr. Stilinski. She had not even been close to pronouncing it correctly. He was sure that the only living people who could pronounce it right were his father and his maternal grandmother. The rest of the family just used his nickname.

“Are you coming?” Stiles asked when he realized that his companion had remained seated; he grinned at the surprised look he got in return. “Dude, I am notgoing into an exam room by myself.” He was so _done_ with hospitals. He just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible and get home, but seriously? He was not going in there alone.

Isaac joined him quickly as the nurse led the way to the examination room. She was quick and efficient, asking him a handful of generic inquiries of a post-op patient, jotting it down for his doctor to review. He sat still as the woman took his blood pressure and then stepped onto the scale when she asked him to. It was all pretty standard, and Stiles honestly thought nothing of it when she asked him to step on the scale.

“… One hundred and twenty-nine pounds,” she muttered quietly, scribbling down his weight in the designated box. She looked up with a smile, and said, “Go ahead and take a seat, and the doctor will be with you shortly.” She excused herself and left Stiles to plop himself down on the examination table, the crinkly noise of the paper making him cringe.

For a moment Stiles had thought the perky little nurse had screwed up with the scale. He knew what his normal weight was. He generally topped out somewhere between one forty-seven and one fifty. His Adderall sometimes made him lose weight because it sort of stifled his appetite, so he was no stranger to some fluctuations, and sometimes he got too distracted to remember to eat. It was just a hazard of being him.

Derek had even called him on it last week too, the day they went grocery shopping. At the time Stiles had thought the big old sour wolf was being completely ridiculous. He thought that Derek was making a big deal out of nothing, blowing it entirely out of proportion. Faced with such a large difference though, an eighteen pound deficit from what he thought he weighed… it was a bit of a slap to the face. He hadn’t really forgone eating enough to lose that much… had he?

Carefully avoiding the now concerned eyes of Isaac, Stiles cast his attention to the walls and tapped his foot impatiently in waiting. He examined the posters hanging on the walls, carefully scrutinizing the charts that described human anatomy in a morbidly fascinating way to distract himself until the doctor arrived. He was lucky not to have to wait long before the door opened again and a familiar woman walked in.

Dr. Elise Wells had been the one to perform the surgery on him. She had light hair that grayed at the temples and a kind smile. He recognized her from his bedridden recovery stint here in the hospital last week. She was staring down at the chart until the door closed behind her, and she looked up with a warm greeting.

“Hello again, Stiles,” she said, coming to a stop just in front of the exam table. “How are you feeling today?”

Stiles shrugged. “Not bad, doc,” he told her. “Just a little tired.”

Dr. Wells regarded him thoughtfully. “I expect you are still experiencing a lot of soreness too,” she mentioned, eyeing his side. “Have you been able to walk around a little yet? Just a few rounds around the house, to help build up your strength again?”

“Yeah,” he nodded readily. “I even climbed the stairs today! Which is great, because the shower is on the second floor, and I really, really, _really_ need to take a shower soon? My dad talked me into me growing my hair out, which is a total mistake because this?” He ran his fingers through the greasy mess of his hair. “This is a disgrace. Not to mention my skin feels gross. Really gross. Just… Ick.”

The woman pursed her lips in amusement. “You can take a shower today if you like, once I remove the staples.” She reached over to the counter along the wall in order to grab a pair of latex gloves. “Why don’t you lie back and lift up your shirt for me.”

Stiles leaned back until he was staring up at the ceiling, feeling just a bit awkward as he pulled up his shirt to reveal his bandaged abdomen. She carefully went about removing the gauze and tape, and Stiles suddenly regretted asking Isaac to join him in the room when the boy drew in a slow, angry breath that was more akin to a growl. He turned his head, trying to catch his eye, but Isaac was looking away.

“Everything looks like it’s healing up nicely,” Dr. Wells commented in satisfaction, her gloved hands resting gently on his side as she inspected the knife wound. “May I see your arm?” He held it out for her and waited restlessly as she gave it the same careful scrutiny. “Alright, everything seems to be in order. Let me just call Claire back in here, and we can get these out.”

Stiles sat up on his elbows the moment she was gone, and gave his companion a wary glance. “Isaac?” he prodded, unsurprised to find golden eyes peering at him when the other boy finally turned to look at him. He sighed and beckoned him closer. “Everything okay, dude?”

“… We were supposed to protect you.” Isaac stared down at the crude wounds with regret, tentatively reaching out to touch but coming short inches away. He retracted his hand and curled it into a fist. “The ones responsible… I’m not sorry they’re dead.”

Stiles smiled unhappily. “Neither am I,” he confessed. “I’m okay though. I’ll be okay.”

The doctor and nurse reappeared before Isaac could reply, wheeling in a cart with a small assembly of small instruments and a tube of the same antibiotic ointment that Stiles had been applying every few hours to fight back infection. He grimaced and fell back onto the table as the two women put on a fresh pair of gloves, the paper crinkling loudly beneath him as he did. He had never had staples removed before. He wondered if this was going to hurt.

“Ready?” Dr. Wells waited for his hesitant nod before looking to her assistant. The nurse opened a packet of sterilizing wipes and Stiles winced as the doctor wiped the alcohol solution around the wound on his side. It stung a bit, but it was mostly just cold. He lifted his head to watch as she selected one of the instruments, a device that frighteningly resembled a pair of oddly shaped needle-nose pliers, and the muscles in his stomach tensed instinctively.

“Is that going to hurt?” Isaac asked warily, giving the women a distrustful glance. He shuffled closer, his fingers flexing out briefly before he curled them into his palms once more.

Dr. Wells smiled at him reassuringly. “No more than a small pinch,” she promised, and then she slid the lower nose of the pliers underneath one of the staples and squeezed the handles together which caused the metal to bend in the center. It came free with a gentle tug, and there had been even less than a pinch, more of just a light tugging sensation. She smiled at Stiles when he gave her a dumbfounded look. “See, no pain at all.”

Removal of the rest of the staples was a quick process. She finished up with his stomach in mere minutes before continuing on to the ones along his forearm. That area was a bit tenderer, mainly because the skin of his arm was a bit more sensitive, but it wasn’t exactly painful. Isaac had seemingly found his calm when Stiles showed no signs of discomfort, and was just watching the procedure curiously.

“All done,” Dr. Wells told him brightly after applying a small amount of bacitracin around the wounds. “Just apply that the same as you have been for at least another week. Try to keep the affected areas as dry as possible still. Showering will be fine, but remember to dry off and use the antibiotic. We have you scheduled for a blood test in a few more days, so unless you have any questions, you are free to go.”

Stiles bit down on his bottom lip as he sat up and pulled his shirt back down. He reached a hand up and gestured to his neck and shoulder. “There is a lot of pain here,” he told her. “It hurts mostly in right there, except it sort of… moves… which is all kinds of disturbing, because I am seriously starting to think that a bug crawled inside there and it is slowly eating its way through my muscle.”

The nurse, Claire, snorted as she wheeled the cart out, but Dr. Wells only blinked. “Oh, that is… I can assure you that it is not a bug. Since the wound was in your abdominal region, we used a method called laparoscopic surgery in order to repair the internal damage. This technique uses a telescopic lens to see inside, and we inflated your abdominal cavity with carbon dioxide in order to expand your stomach. The gas has been known to exert some pressure on the phrenic nerve, which is what is most likely causing the pain in your shoulder and neck.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow skeptically. “So… you’re saying that it’s basically just gas pains?” he asked her. “I think I preferred the bug theory. It sounds so much cooler.”

“It was certainly inventive,” the doctor agreed with a wry grin. “That pain should disappear within a few more days. Usually just walking around will help get it out of your system faster. You can also just try rolling your shoulders or maybe a massage.”

“… A massage?” Stiles grinned. “I can definitely get on board with that.” His expression turned hesitant and he glanced over at his friend one last time. He had a feeling that he was going to regret this. He could already picture Isaac mentioning it to his alpha and the melodramatic upheaval it would cause. But… he was worried now. “So I noticed that I lost some weight too.”

Isaac, predictably, honed in on his features with sharp eyes.

“Oh,” Dr. Wells grabbed his chart and gave it a quick scan. She hummed thoughtfully as she went over the difference in his weight. “You were essentially fasting for almost four days after you were admitted, and that has definitely been known to cause such drastic weight loss. It is typically just water weight though, and should come back within a few weeks after you start eating regularly again. It’s perfectly normal, nothing to worry about.”

Stiles almost felt foolish about worrying to begin with. He would be back up to good old one forty-seven in no time, especially with the way Isaac and Derek were so intent on feeding him lately. That out of the way, Stiles felt ready to head home after bringing up the issue with his medication. She gave him instructions and he was admittedly exhausted and very glad that his father was finishing up by the time they returned to the room.

They were able to head straight out to the parking garage and he ended up sitting between his father and Isaac in the truck, and the other two decided to make a pit stop through a drive-thru for a late lunch. He had stifled the automatic protest when Isaac had asked for his order even though his appetite was still unsettled and opted for a large batch of seasoned curly fries to keep him appeased.

Stiles only had to beg a little bit to be allowed to take a shower. He was almost certain that had it not been for the fact that he reeked, his father would have tried to talk him out of it, but the old man had allowed Isaac to help him up the stairs. They stopped by his room for a change of clothes first, and then the other boy left him alone after making him promise to call for help if he needed it.

The warm water felt marvelous. He leaned his back against the heated tiles contentedly as the water ran over his head and spilled over his shoulders. He breathed in plumes of the rising steam and the faint, fragrant scent of his own body wash. As much as he would have loved to simply stay under the hot spray for as long as possible, he knew that the others would get worried if he took too long. He cleansed his hair thoroughly and scrubbed himself down again before regretfully turning the water off.

Reaching for a towel to dry off, Stiles paid extra attention to the newly forming scars on his body as instructed. He wiped some of the condensation from the mirror with his hand and stared at his reflection for a brief moment. The scar was just as bad as he thought it was. He touched the one on his side with a fingertip with a grimace at the ugly appearance. The one along his forearm was just as bad. He knew that physical scars faded with time, so the angry inflamed skin would eventually fade, but it would still always be there, be visible.

Stiles had never really cared much about his appearance. Not in the way that some of his classmates did, at least. He worked out enough, not like Scott did or anything, but he had at least some muscle definition. He liked to be clean, he liked feeling refreshed like he was now, but he couldn’t care less about fashion choices or the kind of grooming that Jackson Whittemore did. He dressed comfortably, not fashionably. He had his fair share of scars too, because Stiles knew he was a clumsy person. He had been ever since he was young, but these were different from scraped knees and elbows.

These were battle wounds. He didn’t like it.

Exhaling roughly, Stiles dragged his eyes away from the grizzly sight and paused when he noticed how visible his ribs were. _Eighteen pounds_ , his mind supplied. He took a good look at his reflection, carefully studying the way his hipbones jutted out around his slightly recessed abdomen. He had always been skinny, but he had never looked so emaciated. A frown tugged at his mouth, which only seemed to emphasize the gauntness of his face.

Stiles tore away from the mirror, a bit upset by his reflection. He quickly tugged on the pair of gray sweatpants that he had brought with him, trying not to notice how tightly he had to tighten them around his narrow hips. He wanted to ignore it, to pretend that nothing had changed because this was supposed to be a good day, not one where he realized just how neglectful he had been to his own body.

It would definitely be a topic of discussion soon anyway. He knew that Isaac would never let what he heard today stand, even though the doctor had assuring them it was perfectly normal to lose weight after his surgery. He would mention it, either to Stiles or to Derek, because it was clearly something that they needed to discuss. He would deal with it then, because he had been right—ignorance was not blissful. He had been hurting himself without knowing it, ignoring the people he cared about when they had brought it to his attention. He felt like he owed Derek and Isaac both an apology and his gratitude for caring so much about his health.

They were better friends than they knew.

Stiles was about to pull on his shirt when he suddenly recalled the ointment. He had been instructed to apply it again after his shower. He sighed and dropped the garment to search through the medicine cabinet. He couldn’t find it and realized that he had probably left it in his room earlier when he had applied it. He opened the bathroom door and crept down the vacant hallway, using the wall as support as he made his way to his room.

The small tube of bacitracin was sitting right where Stiles had left it, on his bedside table next to all of the gauze and tape that he had used to bandage himself with. He reached down to get it and abruptly shivered, gooseflesh crawling up his exposed back as a gust of cool air rushed through his open window. He tensed instinctively at first, knowing that he had closed it, but he knew of a few werewolves that made a terrible habit of using his window instead of the front door.

Turning around slowly, Stiles gazed in the shadowed corner of his room near the bookshelf and allowed the tension to drain from his shoulders at the sight of a pair of familiar glowing crimson eyes. “Hey there, creeper wolf,” he said, trying to sound annoyed at the fright he’d given him, but the fondness in his voice was impossible to hide. “Lurk much?”

Derek crept forward silently at the salutation. He moved very much akin to the way a predator would stalk its prey, which was a pretty apt description judging by the way the older man ran watched him now. His face might have been inscrutable, but the red glow that had once been terrifying was now a good indication that he was struggling with himself. His long, deep inhale was just another indicator.

 _Oh_ , Stiles thought with a quick breath, suddenly remembering as another soft breeze brushed over his bare shoulders that he was still shirtless. He had seen Derek without a shirt on before in this very room. The man was built beyond perfection, worthy of being cast in bronze and displayed in a museum even, and over the past few months he seemed to have bulked up even more. And Stiles? Not exactly in the running for sexiest body of the year right now.

The feeling of inadequacy urged him to hide himself. His arms curled around his stomach in an attempt to conceal the flatness of it from prying eyes. He pursed his lips, embarrassment and shame building within him as he averted his eyes. He had left his shirt in the bathroom in his pursuit of the ointment, but if Stiles could just get around the looming alpha he could reach his chest of drawers for another.

 Derek was in front of him in three quick strides, grasping gently at his wrists and pulling them away from his body. For a long, tense moment, the alpha merely _stared._ His expression did not waver, but his eyes were warm and calm. “Don’t,” he said, voice quiet and not quite angry, but _intense._ “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“… Oh God,” Stiles groaned, turning away because _shit, Derek could smell it_ , _could sense it_ , and that was just beyond humiliating. He felt the hand against his jaw, the strong, oddly soft fingers gripping his chin and guiding his head back. He looked up in reluctance, his heart fluttering with nervousness at the penetrating look he received.

“Stop thinking.”

Stiles blanched at the command. “Can you really read my thoughts?” he asked uncertainly, an anxious deflection from what was actually a real concern he had.

“Yes Stiles,” he said dryly. “I can read your mind.”

Stiles stared, mouth falling open. “… Really?”

The man rolled his eyes, his lips twitching just barely. “No, of course not. Not the way you’re thinking at least. The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing… or at least, most minds are.”

“… Oh my God! You!” Stiles sputtered. He stared incredulously, noting the self-satisfied smirk with only a small hint of disbelief before snickering. “Figures you would quote Snape,” He shook his head. “Are you trying to impress me or something?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Is it working?”

They were flirting.

 _How the hell did that even happen?_ Stiles thought, almost unable to believe that it was happening so easily. They were practically _flowing_ here over some book reference and it was kind of awesome. Stiles was not a good flirt. His ability to flirt was practically nonexistent… but Derek? He was a great flirt. He smiled that bright smile and perfectly rational deputies turned into simpering fools.

Stiles was about to attempt to try and contribute to this tantalizing conversation when Derek lifted his arm up to inspect the healing wound. The gesture was hauntingly familiar, although Derek never brought his wrist towards his mouth. He clamped down on the instinctual urge to pull away as quickly as possible, swallowing thickly as his pulse began to race.

A vaguely wounded expression flitted over Derek’s features, and Stiles abruptly felt like the worst asshole on the planet. The look faded as quickly as it had appeared though, a grim understanding replacing it. “I would never do that without your permission, Stiles,” he told him, voice thick with assurance. “Not again.”

Stiles shook his head quickly. “No,” he said. “No, that’s not…” He glanced helplessly at the nearly faded bruise on his wrist, unable to figure out what to say in order to assure Derek that he had just misjudged his reaction. That had been the last thing on his mind. He had not even thought about the claiming bite. “You… I’m not scared of you.”

Derek nodded his acceptance, but Stiles got the feeling that he didn’t exactly believe him.

“I’m not,” he insisted, slotting up closer to the man. Stiles shivered again, this time because the heat radiating from the other man seeped into him from their close proximity. He reached out and grabbed onto the lapels of the leather jacket. “Use those wolfy powers of yours, Sourwolf. I am not scared of you.”

“… Then what are you scared of?” Derek asked, his brows pinching together. “You were afraid just now. You tensed, your heart rate elevated…” His thumb swept across his jaw, the motion equally soothing and distracting. His hand slid down to cup the side of his neck, touching the faint, almost invisible scar there from a few weeks ago. His eyes were still scarlet, but his pupils had dilated, now blown a wide and glossy black that almost overtook the red iris.

Stiles found it difficult to articulate words. He swallowed nervously again as they stared at each other, feeling very exposed and vulnerable. He wondered if this was what Derek had felt like last night, talking about his little sister and anchors and basically cutting himself open in an effort to make his intentions easier to understand. His heart was pounding fiercely within his chest when Derek took his hand and lifted it so it rested on his own neck.

They were only inches from each other, just as close now as they had been then, breaths blending together. “Will you let me do something?” Derek asked quietly, squeezing gently at his neck in a comforting gesture.

Stiles knew that were he to attempt speaking right now, it would come out as a mortifying squeak. He nodded fervently instead and licked his lips, blood rushing to stain his cheeks red, and he inwardly winced when he noticed the man flaring his nostrils, obviously scenting the air. He blushed harder as he realized what Derek was probably smelling, an abundance of teenage pheromones assaulting his senses.

Derek did not do what he had been expecting though. He had thought… well, to be honest, Stiles had _hoped_ that this something Derek wanted to do involved lips. Their lips, possibly moving together in a sensual cadence, because they were so close right now. They were a hairsbreadth away, and a kiss, even just a brief, completely chaste one, would have been nice. But… apparently Derek had other plans.

Instead of any kissage happening, the other man twisted his neck around. The placement of Stiles’ hand on the side of his neck placed the long, thin cut that extended from his elbow down to his wrist within reach, and Derek snuffled his nose along it gently. Stiles jolted when a warm, rough tongue darted out to lap at his skin. He sucked in a sharp breath, watching with his mouth hanging open slightly as the man laved along the wound.

Stiles gasped as a warm sensation soothed any of the lingering pain. “I…” he stammered brokenly, eyes falling closed of their own accord as the man continued to work. He knew what he was doing now. He could feel the skin knitting itself back together, the unsightly wound becoming whole again under the gentle ministrations. “I… thought… we agreed… to no more… licking?” He bit down hard on his lip to stave off the need to moan at the feeling.

Derek licked one long swipe up the entire arm, effectively coating it all with his saliva. He pulled back slowly in order to see his work, a satisfied grunt escaping him at the sight of the faint white line. It now looked years old instead of days, the inflammation and reddish hue no longer there. It looked more like a scar from a mild cat scratch rather than a ten inch blade.

“When did we agree to that?” Derek asked him.

“Yesterday after you jumped off of the—” Stiles cut himself off with a startled yelp at the sight of Derek sinking down onto his knees front of him. “You _cannot_ just do that!” He cried, pursing his lips together when the man gave him a challenging look.

“Does it hurt?”

Stiles twitched, turning his head away from the inquisitive gaze. “No.” He drew in another sharp breath as warm hands framed his hips. He flushed all the way down his neck, refusing to look down as Derek applied the same technique over the healing flesh of his side, taking gentle care to tenderly brush his tongue over it. The stubble of his chin scratched teasingly along his hipbone and his lips seemed to linger almost as much as his tongue did.

It was over all too soon, even though Derek seemed to take his time with it. He sat back on his haunches once he was done, his thumb brushing over the imperceptible scar carefully as if to ensure that it was completely healed. “It only healed the outer layer of skin,” he said, voice laden with displeasure. He looked up and asked again, “Does it hurt?”

Stiles sighed, finally meeting his eyes, and answered honestly. “A little,” he told him, watching him rise back to his feet. “Mostly it just aches.” He looked at the scars himself, a warm feeling erupting within his chest. It had never even occurred to him, even after the neck licking incident in the bathroom a while back, to ask for this. The fact that Derek had… it was nice. “… Thank you, Derek.”

Derek nodded slowly. “… What are you doing on Friday night?”

The abrupt shift in atmosphere was a bit blindsiding, but Stiles was becoming accustomed to it around this particular brand of sour wolf. He shrugged, trying to figure out if he had anything planned. “Nothing, I think. Everyone will be over Saturday though to help Isaac move his stuff in and—” He paused midway through the sentence, his mouth falling open as a proverbial light went off in his head. “Are you asking me out?”

Derek reddened subtly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “… Yes?”

“You want…” Stiles shook his head in wonderment. Derek Hale was asking him out. He felt the need to pinch himself to assert that this was real. Derek Hale was asking him out! He had never been on a date before. His experience with relationships was sadly limited, but Derek was allowing him to do this at his speed.  He had said as much, and a date sounded like a perfect way to get to know each other better. “You would… do that for me?”

“I would do this for both of us,” Derek told him evenly. His eyes finally faded into pale green and gray, a solemn shroud around him. “You already know my romantic history. _She_ was the only person I’ve ever been with. I…” He hesitated only for a moment before admitting, “This is just as new to me as it is to you.”

Stiles exhaled slowly, a slow smile lighting his face. “So… Friday night?”


	22. Startling Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It might have been the fact that Stiles was still half asleep or it could have been more. Either way it was a startling revelation, something that warmed his chest with pleasure and sent a wave of longing through him for more.

### Startling Revelation

It was still within the dawning hours of the morning, the sky offering up an ominous glow as the moon slowly began to recede and the sun began to peak over the horizon, when Derek woke abruptly. There was a sense of _wrongness_ resonating deep throughout his entire body, something that just made an anxiousness rise inside of him as his insides twisted into a gruesome knot of foreboding.  It all contrasted greatly with the peaceful contentment he had fallen asleep with the night before.

Derek rose from the tangled sheets of his makeshift bed within the subway car and was already halfway across town before he even consciously registered that he was in motion. His bare feet pounded against the pavement, and he sought out the soothing sensations of the newfound pack bonds instinctively, taking comfort in the fact that nothing seemed out of the ordinary with anyone else. He clung to that feeling, relying on it to keep his head clear, even as he scaled the outer wall and slipped inside the quiet bedroom with ease.

Landing in a defensive crouch, Derek scanned the room for any source of a threat. Inside there didn’t appear to be any immediate danger, but that did little to appease him. Books were stacked haphazardly on top of one another, notebooks and loose-leaf papers lay strewn out across the floor. Sitting atop of the nightstand near the bed was a small tube of topical ointment that was no longer required or needed after last night.

Derek scoured the room thoroughly with his eyes, looking in all the usual places that he liked to use to conceal himself from prying eyes. The nook in the corner where the bookshelf was, behind the bedroom door, inside of the closet, and beneath the bed were all clear. It all looked much like it had the previous night otherwise, but despite the tranquil appearance Derek couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

The only thing even remotely out of place was the office chair currently seating Isaac, the younger wolf having apparently fallen asleep in the chair some time during the night. Isaac was slouched over the desk, his arms dangling down toward the floor. Only his back was visible from the angle near the window, but Derek could see how his face was mashed down against the keyboard of an open laptop, which beeped faintly with multiple errors on the screen and long rows of letters visible on the word document.

Even Stiles seemed to be at peace for a change, no sign of an impending nightmare that would make him thrash and beg in his sleep. The boy was sprawled out on his good side in a deep slumber, completely unaware that Derek had made an impromptu entrance. He had one arm dangling low over the edge of the bed while the other one curled tight around a small, recognizable stuffed object. His peaceful expression was illuminated by the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the open window, accentuating the finer features of his face.

For a long moment after conceding there was no imminent threat, Derek could only stare at the younger man anxiously, his eyes drawn to the sight of the pale column of slender throat dotted with freckles and moles that created an enticing pattern. He felt an uneasy heat rise within him as the unspoken desire to touch.

Derek moved forward without a conscious thought. He approached the bed and gave into his need, reaching out carefully to brush his fingertips over the soft, vulnerable flesh of the exposed throat with gentle urgency. He leaned in closer and inhaled along the same path, something pleasant pacifying that frantic urge as his own scent became more dominant than the pungent pharmaceuticals that had eased the boy into a restful sleep.

In that moment Derek thought he might have known what drew him from sleep and brought him to this place. There was a war raging within his mind, a confusing onslaught of senses clashing with and contradicting one another. One half of Derek was desperate to continue inspecting every inch of Stiles just to be certain that nothing was wrong, while the other half reasoned that the boy was safe as long as their fragile bond still held.

It had been inevitable.

Derek had known since before the discussion in the hospital that this would happen. He had known the last remnants of the claiming bond would diminish over time—the delicate ties had been irreparably damaged by the initial rejection and they were beyond being salvaged, no matter how agreeable Stiles had been the last two times they had spoken. It had merely been a question of _when_ the final threads of their connection would unravel, destroyed by his own thoughtlessness and a mutual misunderstanding of the situation.

This was so much sooner than anticipated though; so much sooner than Derek had hoped, but it was almost completely gone now. He could feel the desolate emptiness creeping up on him even now, leaving him feeling frenzied and desperate to do something, _anything_ to stop it from happening. He had never imagined allowing a claim to fade away would be quite so difficult, but everything in him was fighting against it.

Derek was testing his own resolve right now. He had warned the boy off of temping him the other day, but it seemed that Derek was the one who kept placing himself in these kinds of positions. Just by knowing that the claiming bond had almost evaporated into nothing, and that all it would take to rectify that imbalance in his mind would be to take Stiles by the wrist and sink his teeth in just enough to renew it…

Temptation was a dangerous thing.

Derek had made his choice though, wanting to be noble and do this the right way. To not pressure Stiles into doing something they would both eventually regret by rushing it. They might be friends now, but there was still so much that they had to learn about each other before they would be ready for that level of commitment. And that meant this had to be done the _human_ way first, before another claim could be made.

The date had been a completely spontaneous decision.

Courtships between wolves tended to be a bit shorter than the lengthy ones between humans were. Determining compatibility was a lot easier with heightened senses, and the ability to form bonds, even just temporary ones, aided in helping to learn about one another. Humans seemed to have gotten the short end of that stick with having to find their mates through trial and error, but clearly werewolves were the miserable ones when it came to having to break those bonds… and sometimes, even those could be fooled. Perhaps dating was a miserable experience all around after all, at least until one found their perfect mate.

Derek could barely recall the last time he had been on an actual date. He had dated only very briefly in his youth, usually at the insistence of his sister to escort her friends to school dances and such since he had been somewhat of a recluse. The whole affair with Kate had been a secret from the beginning due to the difference in their age, and none of those encounters could really be mistaken for traditional dates.

Friday night was something that Derek thought of with mutual anticipation and dread. He still had a few nights to hash out the details, but he was at a bit of a loss of what to do. He had felt out of his element to even ask, like an awkward, frightened, and needy teenage boy asking someone out for the first time. He was a grown man. He should have been able to do such things with more finesse than this.

To be fair though, Stiles had been standing in front of him like a blatant invitation at the time. It had been difficult to articulate actual words after seeing the smooth planes of his chest, the pale skin glistening in the moonlight and displaying the unique array of dotted flesh. As if the ones scattered along his neck weren’t tantalizing enough, the intriguing designs continued over the entire expanse of his body. And the boy had stood there, bold with the insistence that he was not afraid of him…

Last night was a prime example of where his own faults lay, because Derek had been unable to deny himself the need to lick every wound away. The end result had been purely cosmetic, only managing to heal the outer layer of skin, but Derek had enjoyed it more than he should have. It had always been his intention to heal Stiles. Ever since discovering the crude bits of metal securing the flesh together in order to make it heal right, he had intended to make the scars less noticeable… but he had always meant to ask permission first.

Unfortunately it seemed that Derek always managed to neglect that courtesy when it came to Stiles. He never asked for permission. He had just _taken_ and expected it to be accepted, if not right away then certainly eventually, and it was something that Derek needed to make up for by trying to remain patient. Not by attacking someone with his mouth… although Stiles had not seemed too averse to the idea, despite his initial embarrassment at the situation.

Now those scars and what they represented were practically invisible and forgotten. Derek had despised having a reminder of just how fragile human skin could be, a reminder that they had all failed to protect one of their pack—that they had allowed someone, a _hunter_ , to mar his skin and _mark_ him. He was glad they were gone, and though Derek did not regret what he had done, he did regret not consulting Stiles first to allow him to make an informed decision.

Stiles should probably be consulted about the date too, especially considering that Derek had no idea what to do. What did human teenagers usually do for such occasions? The idea of going to dinner and a movie… it just felt a bit too trivial and juvenile, but being a teenager himself perhaps that would appeal to Stiles. But Derek liked to think he knew Stiles better than that. The boy might not hate the idea of going out to dinner and a show, but at the same time it felt like they were beyond that stage in their relationship.

They were already both deeply invested in this one way or another and this date had to reflect that… it had to matter. This would have to be something special and not just some stereotypical date between two strangers. They were more than strangers. They were companions, they were friends, and most importantly, they were _pack._ This was their chance to become something so much more than any of that and Derek would be damned if he managed to ruin this as well.

Derek sighed to himself for overthinking this all so much. He tried to shake the feeling of unease, and leaned down to take in one last deep breath to soothe his nerves. Beneath the lingering vestiges of pain, exhaustion, and medicine, there was a fresh, clean scent to Stiles, with hints of the soap he had used from the shower the night before. He smelled faintly of the pack too, and of something else entirely that Derek had long since given up trying to identify, and…

A rumbling growl escaped unbidden, rage drawing out the sharp claws as a strange, somewhat recognizable scent filled his lungs. Derek stood back to his full height and scented the air, and it was faint and muted, masked by something oddly like bergamot, peppermint, and cedar combined in a confusing yet fragrant combination, but the scent was fresh. It was still in the house. He reached out with his other senses, stiffening when he realized something.

There were three heartbeats in the house that were caught in a slow and steady rhythm, and Derek could feel his own beating more tensely, still accelerated from the long sprint here and now more so from the sudden flood of adrenaline racing through his veins. One belonged to the sheriff, another to Isaac, and one to Stiles… but there was not only _one_ , but _two_ other heartbeats that he could not account for.

A familiar ache tugged at his gums, signaling the beginnings of a partial transformation, while his jaw morphed to accommodate the fangs. He had trouble dealing with just _one_ kanima, unable to fight against the toxin that could leave him utterly helpless in seconds, but there were _two_ in the house. He could not take them on himself. He honed in on the office chair, only noticing belatedly just how utterly _still_ Isaac had been this whole time.

Isaac should have stirred when he arrived.

The younger wolf should have reacted in some way to the presence of his alpha nearby, because the boy had keen senses and he had slowly begun to trust his own instincts. But Isaac had not moved an inch save for a subtle twitch of his fingers as they hung limply toward the floor. He was alive, of that much Derek was certain, and his breathing was fine though a bit sedate. On the back of his neck though, hidden beneath the ends of his curls, was a small scratch that had yet to heal.

Moving forward quickly, Derek grabbed the boy by the shoulder and pulled him back carefully. His connection with Isaac revealed nothing at first, and his own senses were fooled by the steady pace of his heart, but Derek could sense a small pang of panic that was not his own after a moment of concentration. The bonds were still new, still took too long to draw upon, which meant it was still a bit unreliable; he should have known better than to trust it them completely.

Isaac had his eyes open wide, glowing golden with a frantic helplessness. He made no sound, though relief and urgency shown throughout his entire expression. His mouth remained unmoving behind a clear ichorous substance that was splattered over his face. He could not speak, the viscous paralyzing toxin forming some kind of muzzle to keep him quiet. His eyes widened momentarily, darting down in the direction of the desk, and they both stilled as something slithered near their legs.

Reacting instinctively, Derek dove to the side and rolled across the floor, landing in a flattened crouch. He saw the agile tail twist across the floor, and glanced up in time to see the creature move up onto its hind legs and into a standing position now that it was no longer hiding beneath the shadows of the desk. The slithery serpentine creature opened its maw and released a long and threatening hiss.

Derek responded with a growl of his own, the sound reverberating deep within his chest as he flexed his claws in anticipation, but the creature did not advance. He narrowed his eyes when it disregarded him completely, momentarily confused until he noticed that the glowing orange eyes were directed upwards. It could have been a trick. The beast was obviously clever, and it could have been a way to distract him long enough to deliver one quick paralyzing blow, but Derek could not help but follow its line of sight with his own eyes.

Perched with its belly high against the ceiling, the other kanima lashed its tail back and forth near the light fixture. It was a lot slenderer than the one on the floor, something Derek only realized after seeing both like this and being able to compare. This was the one that had been in the parking lot, the one that had taken down the hunters without killing them, but it was not the one that had kept him and Stiles in the pool for hours. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he didn’t have time to think on it because it bent its head backwards in a boneless maneuver and stared down at them both.

The kanima on the floor took a step forward, away from Derek and closer to the bed, eyes intent on its target. He inwardly cursed his situation, quickly trying to devise a plan of attack that did not end in him on the floor and out of commission before it could reach its goal. The one on the ceiling, however, reacted first and screeched in warning.

It dropped to the floor without a sound, body twisting in midair so it landed gracefully on its hands and knees in the center of the room, between Stiles and the other. It launched itself forward without warning, claws creating deep scratches along the leathery chest of the larger one, and then before the other could retaliate it struck again with a victorious hiss, the reptilian jaw snapping forward, teeth dripping with venom.

Derek watched cautiously, beyond confused as to why the two creatures would be attacking one another. They seemed to be intent on killing each other, in fact, so he decided that he didn’t care to know their motivations. He would gladly let them rip each other apart if it meant he only had to deal with the remaining survivor. He needed to get Stiles and Isaac out of here in the meantime, since neither was equipped to deal with this. He wasn’t even equipped, but the rest of the pack were all too far away to get here in time even if he were to call to them now.

Taking hold of the back of the office chair, Derek rolled it toward the door and sent Isaac down the hallway with one solid push. The boy was sent straight across the hall, stopping just outside of the bathroom door. It was by no means a safe distance from the brawling beasts, but it put him out of striking distance. Spinning back around, Derek edged around the creatures carefully, keeping one eye on their vicious attacks.

Neither seemed able to land a blow, though not for a lack of trying. They lunged for each other viciously, slashing their claws within a hairsbreadth of each other, arching out of the way of long, glistening claws and swooping strikes of their tails. They were quick, faster than most creatures, and they were quiet save for a few low hisses or snarls. The way they moved was unnatural and a bit unnerving, and they somehow managed to avoid even coming close to knocking into the furniture in the small space of the room.

They both seemed content to ignore Derek as well, right up until the moment a floorboard groaned under his weight near the bed. Two heads swiveled around in an instant, glowing orange eyes staring at him unblinkingly. He tensed, sensing the impending attack before it happened as the larger one lowered its head in preparation. There was no choice but to fight it now.

Derek flung out his hand, just barely ducking beneath the long, graceful tail as the creature surged forward with intent. He sliced along the sleek underside of it as it passed by, claws cutting four jagged streaks along its length before he jumped backwards. The creature swung around, swinging out with its own claws, and Derek was forced to duck and weave to avoid getting eviscerated. He countered when he had the chance, striking back with a swift slash that caught its shoulder and had the creature snapping its jaw in pain.

The kanima began to approach again, fury in its eyes, obviously intending to go for the kill if it got the chance. Derek flexed his fingers with an angry growl and went for an offensive attack rather than wait for it to come at him again, moving forward with two quick attacks, a right and a left horizontal slash, only one of them managing to connect and leave behind a clean gash on its neck, but definitely not fatal enough to kill the vigorous monster.

Derek was blindsided, however, when the creature feigned a strike with its tail, then changed direction suddenly. He spun around quickly, only to see the reptile lunging at him, and, with a quick strike of its head, sink its teeth deep into his side along the ribcage. He whimpered under the crushing force of the jaw grinding hard against his bones, and he elbowed the top of the kanima’s head several times to get free, but it held fast, tightening its grip even more.

On the bed, a soft cry escaped a still-sleeping Stiles, the pain transferring through what was left of their fractured bond, and it was seemingly enough to enrage the other kanima into attacking again. It raked its claws along the back of the one holding Derek captive in its unrelenting jaw, and Derek used the distraction as an opportunity to reach around and sink his claw into its belly.

The kanima arched away with a cry, hissing furiously and writhing away, fangs dripping with venom as it retreated. Derek dropped to the ground and clutched at his side, the wound flaring painfully as the poison spread throughout his bloodstream. He gasped with pain as his body began to fight off the adverse effects, coughing up small spatters of blood which stained his lips an inky black color. He blinked rapidly as his head began to feel heavy, an onslaught of dizziness threatening to overtake him.

Derek forced himself to move. He took to a knee first, then the other, all the while moving as slowly and gingerly as he dared. He inhaled sharply against the pain as he used his hands to push himself up, standing unsteadily for a moment and feeling as if he had just been slammed into a brick wall. He swallowed the vile taste of dying blood cells and stared ahead, eyes meeting the widened maw of the kanima as it hissed at him.

 It never got another chance to attack him though.

The other one struck first, pouncing forward and digging its claws in deep, slashing them upwards—eviscerating the lungs and slicing through the bones of the ribcage with ease, a move that obviously mirrored how many of the previous victims had perished—and leaving behind multiple lacerations on the scaled hide. The claws withdrew a second later, the smaller kanima tilting its head to uncaringly watch its comrade fall.

Collapsing to the floor after the brutal assault, the pitiful creature hissed miserably and lay on the flat of its belly, clinging to life as blood pooled out around it. Derek was prepared to walk over to the defenseless beast and end it, to raise his claws high in the air and deliver a final blow, but the thing twitched seconds later. It raised itself up slowly but surely, the edges of every wound steadily in the beginning stages of healing.

 Derek released a frustrated curse, realizing that this thing was just as capable of surviving as any werewolf. He should have expected that. They were both shape shifters, after all, both of the same lineages at least somewhere down the line. It stood to reason that there would be certain similarities in their genetic makeup, the same enhanced regeneration. He should have anticipated it, because his own torso was already recovering.

The wounds were deep, but thankfully the fangs had not pierced anything vital. His body had already counteracted the venom, expelling it in the black blood that left a bitter taste in his mouth. Derek was still in a great deal of pain, but apparently the poison in the kanima’s saliva was not the same as the one it secreted from its claws. He could still move. He could still fight.

Derek would die before letting this thing get to the boy asleep on the bed. However the creature apparently did not have the same regard towards its fixation and, the craven beast apparently realizing that it would probably die if it stayed much longer, decided to launch itself through the open window without warning. It vanished into the dawning light of day, leaving Derek only the one that had been coiled up on the ceiling to deal with.

Meeting his eyes cautiously as it turned to look at him, the creature stared unblinkingly for a second before melting down onto all fours. Derek braced himself for another attack, baring his teeth threateningly as it stalked forward, a growl ripping from his throat as it moved only to get around him. It hissed back its displeasure, flattened nostrils flaring with frustration momentarily, and its eyes went to the boy still asleep on the bed.

The kanima edged forward again, moving along the wall and skittering back when Derek snarled at it. “No,” he snapped out, voice quiet and unwavering. His eyes sharpened, glowing bright red with fury that it would even try, but his lip uncurled in confusion as the creature skittered back, as if obeying the command. He waited for it to do something else, to try again, but it merely tilted its head at him.

Derek refused to be distracted by the odd behavior. He would not be tricked, because regardless of the fact that this thing had saved his life just now by going up against its companion it was still responsible for many other deaths. He could not overlook that fact, just as he had been unable to overlook the fact that his uncle had murdered two others that had nothing to do with the fire. He understood wanting revenge, but Laura and his nurse were innocent and should never have been part of his vendetta.

This thing had murdered several people already. It had gone after that abusive asshole and torn him up beyond recognition, it had disemboweled the hunter that had been skulking around in the woods, it had crushed the mechanic and practically forced Stiles to watch it happen, and it had completely _obliterated_ the little gang of hunters that had been arrested after the incident near the grocery store while injuring several other people in the process.

It may have been helpful just now, but it was still a killer and it needed to be eradicated. He would have to be quick. This creature could move faster than Derek could, and even just a scratch would be fatal. The thing seemed calm right now, but that could change in an instant, especially once it realized that Derek intended to exterminate it.

As if reading the lethal thoughts brewing inside of Derek’s mind, the kanima narrowed its eyes, making the slits all the more prominent, and it released a slow, mournful screech that was probably loud enough to wake everyone in the house. He took a slow, measured step forward, and then the kanima was gone, escaping out the window as the other one had.

Derek crossed the room in three quick strides, peering out into the dim lighting of the streetlights and the rising sun. There was no sign of the creature, either of them. He was unsure whether to be relieved that they were both finally gone or frustrated that he had probably just missed out on the one chance he had to get rid of them, but either way it was done.

A soft breeze of morning air wafted through the room and met the faint sheen of perspiration and blood coating his chest and torso. He shivered a bit at the coolness, suddenly reminded of the fact that in his haste to get here earlier, Derek had not had the foresight to pull on shoes, much less a shirt. His side was a mess, the outer layer of skin almost wholly sealed despite that internally things were still righting themselves.

Closing the window and quickly securing the lock in place, Derek turned and gave the room another scrutinizing glance, this time including the ceiling and beneath the desk in his search. He listened, hearing only three other heartbeats inside the house besides his own, and released a sigh before shuffling forward.

There would be time to recover in a moment. He moved through the door and down the hall. Isaac was still slumped backwards in the chair when he reached him, the nervous expression on his face clearing briefly before it was replaced with concern. His heart was a steady thrum that did nothing to betray just how anxious he was, and Derek speculated that perhaps the toxin had something to do with that.

Derek answered the unspoken question in his eyes. “They’re gone,” he said quietly, taking hold of the back of the chair and wheeling it back into the room. He stared down at the substance over the younger wolf’s mouth, studying it carefully, as if that might actually tell him how to handle this. It seemed to have solidified at some point, creating a hard mask, and Derek excused himself in order to retrieve some towels in case it was made of the same matter that could render him immobile.

Using a towel to protect his hands, Derek grasped the dried edges of the adhered substance and gave a testing pull—a small piece broke off, and other than a small wince from Isaac at the way it probably pulled at his skin, it seemed to work well enough. He supposed it might be a bit like a band-aid stuck to the skin that way, which meant that removing it would probably be a little painful.

“This might hurt,” Derek uttered in warning, and Isaac gave him a look, eyebrows raised expectantly to urge him on. He retook his stance and pulled most of it off in one tremendous tug, not pausing before brushing off the stubborn smaller fragments that remained. The younger man released a pained gasp once it was over, his pale skin reddening briefly before it soothed itself over. “Can you talk?”

Isaac took a moment to breathe. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, licking at his tender lips until they healed as well. He looked up at him gratefully. “Thanks. I… I can’t move though.”

“How long ago did it scratch you?”

“I’m not sure,” Isaac admitted. “You showed up a few minutes after I realized they were there.” His eyes moved to the blood. “Will you be okay? That looks kind of bad.”

Derek grimaced slightly and reached for one of the clean towels. “It’s fine,” he grunted, wiping away the blood carefully before doing the same around his mouth. “What happened?”

“One of them came at me when I opened the door, and I was on the floor before I could even do anything.” He looked apologetic about it, but there was nothing he could have done differently with just how fast and stealthy those things were. “It put its hand over my mouth and… well, I think it was going to suffocate me with that stuff.”

A flash of rage went through Derek at the thought. “Why did it stop?”

Isaac furrowed his brows in confusion. “The other one jumped through the window,” he told him. “It pulled me away and threw me into the chair. I couldn’t see what was happening after that, but… I think…” He bit down on his lip. “I think it was trying to protect me.”

Derek ground his teeth together to keep himself from saying anything. He felt something twist in his gut at the news, a sudden surge of doubt plaguing his thoughts. It was one thing to protect Stiles… but it had tried to protect Isaac as well? No, not just Isaac… it had tried to protect Derek too. He had no idea why it wanted to protect them, but he could not deny what was right in front of him. Nothing about it made sense though.

“When it got me, the paralysis lasted for over two hours,” Derek reminded him, and they both shared a slightly unhappy look at that. But it was still early and no one else in the house had woken up during the scuffle, so Isaac could probably get away with sleeping it off. It was a bit surprising actually that the noise hadn’t woken anyone. The fight had by no means been loud, but the screech that thing let out at the end should have at least roused Stiles a bit.

“John got him to take his medicine,” Isaac offered without prompt. “It makes him really tired. He probably won’t wake up for a few more hours.”

Derek nodded speculatively and threw the dirty towel down in the corner with the other one. He felt marginally better, but there was still an awful taste in his mouth. “Do you mind if I carry you back to your room?” he asked, though there wasn’t really much of a choice. “You can sleep off the rest of the effects.”

Obviously a bit embarrassed, Isaac reluctantly agreed and allowed him to carry him down the hall to the other bedroom. Derek was silent for the most part, not wanting to make him even more uncomfortable with the situation, and got him situated. He did offer some quiet praise before leaving, because despite having probably been asleep initially Isaac had sensed the intruders quickly and reacted before anything could happen.

Stiles could have been taken had he not realized that the kanimas were in the house, and though it was regrettable that Isaac had been subdued for his interference, it had given Derek the time needed to reach the house. He had probably been the reason Derek had even known something was wrong to begin with, something in both of them responding subconsciously to the danger even if Derek hadn’t realized it at first.

Isaac smiled when Derek relayed all of that to him, obviously more pleased with himself now instead of ashamed, and happy to have pleased his alpha. “Get some rest,” Derek said gently, the edges of his mouth curling up in a half-smile at the sight. He closed the door behind him quietly and then moved down to the last one in the hallway. He listened to the sheriff breathe, soft snores echoing beyond the closed door, and finally released a long and satisfied breath as he realized it was over.

Derek seriously doubted that either kanima would return today. It was just a gut feeling, but if there was one thing he knew it was to trust his instincts. He slid into the bathroom for a moment to rinse his mouth out, first with water, and then with the astringent cinnamon flavored mouthwash to rid himself of the foul taste lingering there. He cleaned up a bit more with a washrag to remove any lingering traces of blood before walking back toward Stiles’ room.

Throwing caution to the wind, Derek planted one knee down upon the mattress and gave into the need he had been denying himself since arriving. There was a small sliver of space just behind Stiles on the small twin-sized mattress, and Derek was able to settle down on his healing side comfortably enough. His front now pressed against the warm back, spooning up against him so he could feel the long, reassuring plane of his body pressed firmly against his own, the last remnants of agitation uncoiled from his belly.

Derek pressed his nose ever so slightly against the side of the neck presented to him and breathed in the calming scent of Stiles deeply, satisfied that their scents were now intertwined together from the contact. He eased one arm over the slender waist to press his hand over the mostly healed wound on Stiles’ abdomen and breathed through the last of the feverish haze.

Stiles shifted in his sleep with only a soft noise of discontent, his body unconsciously burrowing closer to the warmth emanating from the werewolf. The young man could probably feel the connection between them dwindling down by the minute as well. It would probably be gone entirely by tonight at this rate. It was for the best though; a chance for a fresh start for them both, even if it meant being patient and doing this at the human pace.

For a long while Derek just laid there and tried not to think about the dying bond as he listened to the steady hum of the heartbeat in front of him. He dared not move too much either, knowing just how difficult it was for Stiles to find peace in sleep recently. The idea of waking him when he was finally resting peacefully was an unappealing thought, no matter how tempting it was to pull him in closer.

Eventually the adrenaline faded and left Derek to succumb to closing his eyes and falling asleep. He had always been a light sleeper, however, and he was awakened some time later by a soft sound of distress coming from Stiles. Just like earlier this morning, Derek was awake in seconds, the fog of sleep leaving him in an instant.

Stiles had stiffened abruptly, a clear indication that he was aware if not entirely awake, and Derek went utterly still, uncertainty pinning him immobile as he waited to see how the boy would react to catching him in such a compromising position. He held his breath in waiting—waiting for Stiles to wrench himself away for the violation, or to recoil as he often did with that bitter smell of fear—and then a hand closed over the wrist still resting over the boy’s abdomen.

“… Derek?” a soft, tired voice asked in a whisper, just the smallest hint of trepidation in his tone. Stiles turned his neck slightly, enough that their eyes met for a brief moment, and the hand suddenly tightened before Stiles loosened his grip and slid his hand down to interlace their fingers instead before allowing his head to rest back against the pillow.

Derek remained motionless in astonishment as the boy sighed, his body going lax in contentment as he scooted back even more, settling himself completely against the werewolf, and then seemingly falling back asleep. The transition happened in moments, and Derek was taken aback by the open display of trust, but even more so by just how easily Stiles seemed to have accepted his presence.

It might have been the fact that Stiles was still half asleep or it could have been more. Either way it was a startling revelation, something that warmed his chest with pleasure and sent a wave of longing through him for more.

Stiles clutched onto his hand in his sleep, practically curling around it much in the same manner he did the stuffed wolf toy still snuggled up to his chest. Derek would have been content to stay that way for as long as possible. It was the closest to being at peace he had been in a long time, but unfortunately something always got in the way of his happiness.

Derek had been thoroughly pressed up against the younger man’s back to begin with, but then Stiles had shifted and somehow managed to deepen the embrace even more. The heat of the lithe body pressed up against the more intimate areas of his own was difficult to ignore and it left him with a bit of a dilemma.

He would have been fine with it normally, because he was no stranger to ignoring the physical needs of his own body. However the source of his current predicament was a slight movement in the house as the sheriff began to stir. Derek stifled a groan for a number of reasons, recognizing the fact that the sun had long ago finished its ascent into the sky and had now woken up the man. Worse was the fact that it would be impossible to extract himself from the bed in time without waking Stiles, especially when the telltale sounds of feet padding down the hallway met his ears.

Derek closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the back of the neck in front of him as he resigned himself to being shot sometime within the next hour. The doorknob twisted quietly, sealing his fate, and a gentle light spilled into the room as the door opened slowly.

Sheriff Stilinski should not have looked intimidating with his graying hair mussed by sleep, soft pressure marks across his face from where the creases of the pillow had pushed on the skin of his cheek in the night. He was dressed in flannel sleep pants, a simple white shirt with coffee stains down the chest, and a pair of argyle socks with holes in them, but somehow he was still one of the most terrifying sights Derek had ever seen as the look of shock faded into one completely unreadable.

“Hale,” the man acknowledged flatly, voice quiet so as not to disturb the sleeping boy between them, but it may as well have been an enraged shout with the underlying tone of anger in his voice. “Kindly extract yourself from the bed of my underage son and meet me downstairs in five minutes.” He left no room for argument, leaving the door open as he disappeared, but Derek could hear him lingering just outside of it.

This conversation had been a long time coming.

To be honest Derek had expected this since the sheriff had cornered him outside of the post office and interrogated him. That conversation had been very non-confrontational, except for the questions about involving Stiles in drugs or gangs or online gaming communities. In fact beyond the few thinly veiled hostile comments made in the kitchen during pizza night while the man had ostentatiously used a rather large kitchen knife to cut the already presliced pizzas, Sheriff Stilinski had not said a word to discourage such a relationship.

Derek had been trying to ignore the glaring difference in age himself, but it was naive to think that the sheriff was okay with it. He took one last breath to ready himself for what was to come and carefully began the painstaking process of disentangling his limbs and unplastering himself from Stiles. It took longer than the five minutes he had been given, and at some point Derek heard the man retreat down the stairs, but Derek eventually managed to climb out of the bed without waking the boy.

From experience Derek already knew that none of the clothes that Stiles possessed would fit him properly. He searched through the drawers anyway, eventually deciding upon a large button-down shirt that didn’t quite button once on, but it was better than nothing. He inhaled deeply to brace himself, wondering if he had inadvertently condemned his relationship with Stiles again before it had a chance to develop into anything, and made his way downstairs to face the sheriff.

Derek expected to be met with open hostility, but the man was already seated at the head of the dining room table when he arrived. There were two cups of hot coffee on the table, a plain cup of black roast sitting opposite of where the sheriff sat, while the one in front of the man had faint traces of alcohol in it. The man motioned with his head for Derek to seat himself, seemingly content with the uncomfortable silence as Derek took a tentative sip of the beverage.

“Did you have sex with my son last night?” Sheriff Stilinski asked point blank, either unaware of his extremely bad timing or just uncaring that Derek sputtered and choked as the coffee got lodged within his throat in his alarm at the question.

 Eyes darting up to take in the anger and menace coming from the usually mild-tempered man who was now glaring at him, Derek swallowed and shook his head quickly. “… No sir.”

The man made a noise in the back of his throat, something disbelieving and furious. “You were in his bed,” the words were hard, cold, and filled with accusation. “That is one of the shirts I bought him, which leads me to believe that you lost yours somehow during the night when you _snuck into my house_ , and right now all manners of which my imagination can conjure up that happening do not bode well for you, especially since my boy is still recovering from a traumatic surgery and in a great deal of pain half of the time. Did you have sex with my son last night?”

Derek held onto his temper at the insinuation with only the reminder that he had brought this upon himself, and that the man was human and breakable and Stiles would never forgive him if he somehow managed to hurt him. “No,” he replied honestly, teeth clenched slightly and eyes narrowed. “No, I did not have sex with Stiles last night… or any other night for that matter.”

Something flickered through the man’s eyes. “You’re suggesting that my son is in a relationship with you and is still a virgin?” he asked, suspicion still coloring his tone.

Derek stared down at the mug in his hand and released his anger in one slow breath. “Six years… I am six years older than Stiles. He is only sixteen, which makes him a minor, and the age of consent in California is eighteen.” He swallowed down a mouthful of coffee, and recited, “Any person who engages in an act of unlawful sexual intercourse with a minor who is more than three years younger than the perpetrator is guilty of either a misdemeanor or a felony, and shall be punished by imprisonment in a county jail not exceeding one year, or by imprisonment in the state prison.”

“Jesus, kid,” Sheriff Stilinski breathed out after a long, tense moment. He ran a hand down his weary face, and apparently decided that the coffee wasn’t strong enough because he reached down beside him and grabbed hold of a bottle of whiskey. He added another splash to the drink and pushed the bottle toward Derek, and though it probably wouldn’t affect him, he did the same to his. “Alright… if you say you two haven’t had sex together, then I believe you.”

There was no change in his heartbeat—it remained steady and unflinching. Either the man was skilled like his son and able to deceive even alpha werewolves, or he honestly believed him. Derek raised his eyes slowly. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but the sheriff taking him at his word was a bit beyond comprehension.

“You actually memorized the penal code regarding statutory rape?” the man asked quietly, and before Derek could even attempt to come up with a plausible explanation for _why_ he had even researched it to begin with, the sheriff posed another question. “… Is it because of what Katherine Argent did to you?”

Derek drew in a sharp breath of surprise. “How did you…?” He had never really spoken about it before, except with… “Stiles?” He felt the stirrings of betrayal, but shot that down immediately because he had trouble believing that Stiles would voluntarily reveal something so personal and private even to his own father. He felt vindicated when the sheriff bristled slightly in righteous indignation.

“My son would never betray something talked about in confidence,” Sheriff Stilinski said firmly. “Hell, that’s part of the reason I have trouble believing him when he goes off on some obscure tale about why he shows up at crime scenes and where he keeps disappearing to. Stiles is lying to me in order to protect someone…”

Derek was almost unable to contain his grimace, knowing his part in their strained relationship. “Stiles is frustratingly good at lying,” he nodded, trying to cover up his guilt. “Half the time I’m not sure to take him seriously or not.”

“The rest of the time, we’re probably just better off not knowing,” the man said with a snort. He sighed a moment later and nodded toward the untouched spiked coffee as he took a large gulp of his own, mouth quirked in an unhappy smile. “It was just a theory I had. During the seizure of Katherine Argent’s belongings, we found evidence that suggested she may have had an unknowing accomplice. She seduced our key witness to gather information on how to commit arson and get away with it, so it stood to reason that she might have employed the same tactic to gain entry to the house.”

Derek averted his eyes and swallowed thickly. He had wondered how Stiles had been able to guess the circumstances. He glanced around, noting several notebooks and case files piled around the table. His father had probably put most of it together, and Stiles had simply been quick to make the same connections from what information he had been able to glean and reached his own conclusion. They made a good team that way, being able to formulate the same opinion when having so few details.

“I have actually been meaning to bring you in for questioning about it,” the man admitted tiredly, finishing off his coffee quickly. “There wasn’t enough evidence there to prove my theory, and Argent had already been convicted posthumously for the murders of her former accomplices, but the investigation into her death is still open. That woman didn’t kill herself, and she couldn’t have been the one to murder your sister because receipts place her out of state at the time.”

Derek resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t—”

“I know, I know,” the sheriff said hastily, giving him an apologetic look before it turned into something wry and humorous. “I think you’ve probably had enough murder accusations come your way to last a lifetime. I don’t think you murdered Ms. Argent, but… and I am very sorry to even bring this up… your supposedly comatose uncle disappeared nights before she was murdered. It just feels… a bit suspicious to me.”

The man was very astute.

Derek often forgot that the sheriff was used to paying attention to the smaller details, things that other people tended to miss because they were too close to look at the entire picture. He saw it all though. Derek had to wonder just how ignorant Sheriff Stilinski truly was. He seemed to know far more than any of them had ever given him credit for, and even now he was leaning closer to the truth than the alpha felt comfortable with.

 “… I don’t want to talk about Kate,” Derek sighed, looking up at him. “I don’t want to talk about her. I would rather just forget about her entirely, but… if it will help with your investigation I will admit that… that I met her about two months before the fire and that we were… intimate.” He had used the same word to describe it with Stiles a few days ago.

It had tasted like ashes on his tongue then too.

“Are you willing to go on record with that?” the sheriff asked gently, and there was something compassionate and understanding about his demeanor now. “You don’t have to. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you to even admit that much, and even though the woman is already gone…”

Derek ran his tongue over his teeth in thought. “… When you searched her house, did you find evidence that Kate did that to someone else?”

He had his closure. He had seen Kate drown in a pool of her own blood and only felt a bittersweet satisfaction that he was finally free of her. But how many other people had she done it to? How many people were still out there, consumed with guilt for the part they played in her game? How many were waiting for retribution or… or for absolution?

The sheriff just said that she had seduced someone else to help with the fire. He had to be talking about the only survivor on the list Laura had made, the only one his uncle had not gotten to during his rampage for revenge—the chemistry teacher at the high school, Adrian Harris. That was one other person Kate used to commit murder. The sheriff also said that it stood to reason that she employed the same tactic, and something about the way he said it gave Derek the sense that he was speaking in broader terms than just here.

Sheriff Stilinski didn’t have to say it. His face said it for him, the grim lines of his forehead prominent as his mouth pressed together sorrowfully. Kate had done it before. Perhaps Derek might have been the first to fall for her charms, but he had by no means been the last. He could have stopped it. He could have come forward after the fire, confessed his part in it and hers, but instead he had condemned others to suffer the same fate.

“Aw, hell,” the sheriff said abruptly, apparently reading the guilt on his face. “It’s not your fault, son. There was no way you could have known. She was good at covering her tracks, at making herself appear squeaky clean, but she was a serial killer through and through. We can trace her back to five separate incidents long before the fire, and she couldn’t have been older than fourteen for one of them. She had been doing this for a long time before she ever even met you. She knew how to use her looks to her advantage, and exactly how to convince a teenage boy to love her. You are not responsible for her actions.”

Derek blinked rapidly and nodded his head, but otherwise couldn’t bring himself to respond. He knew that Allison was the exception to how hunters were traditionally raised. He attributed that to Chris Argent not wanting his daughter to have the same kind of upbringing as he did as a child. He hated to think of Kate as anything other than a cold-hearted, murdering bitch, but… fourteen?

Children could be vicious and malicious, sometimes worse than most adults could, but surely not even Kate could have been completely sadistic at that age. She had only been a girl once. She might have even been innocent at one point. Derek could never forgive her the wrongs she had committed against him. He could never forgive her for what she had done to his kind either or the collateral damage left in her wake.

Something untwisted in his heart though as he came to understand something. He exhaled a deep breath and felt the release of it, a knowledge that made his shoulders feel lighter and a dark piece of himself wither away. Kate had been a victim herself, in her circumstances and her environment. She had been raised to be a killer, with no choice in the matter.

Derek would always hate her.

Nothing would ever change that, and he would never forget the genuine thrill she felt while murdering his family. Kate deserved to rot in the deepest depths of hell for the horror she had brought on people… but Derek could feel sympathy for a little girl who had been manipulated into a life like that. He could sympathize with someone like Chris Argent, who had been forced to watch it happen and still loved her for what she had once been despite knowing all she had done.

“Where are you living, Hale?”

Taken aback by the abrupt and unexpected question, Derek was drawn out of his thoughts and blinked uncertainly. “In a hotel,” he said out of pure reflex, the same automatic answer that he had given during the official investigation about his sister. He realized it may have been a mistake the moment after he said it, when the man across from him raised an eyebrow.

“There are three hotels in Beacon Hills, kid,” Sheriff Stilinski informed him evenly. “Not one of them has had you listed as a guest in the past four months, and I know for a fact that you were living in your old family home until recently. I also know you haven’t been back there in weeks, due to the trespassers on the property.”

Derek only just barely managed to stifle his grin at the news. He hadn’t realized that Stiles had already made good on his threat. He wondered how many had been arrested. Surely the police would believe that the hunters were part of some sort of small arms-dealing terrorist group. They were probably already all in prison.

“You have several properties in your name now though,” the man said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Some are being rented out by tenants for business reasons, like the strip mall downtown, and others just sit there useless and structurally unsound like your old house… and the old train depot just outside of town.”

Derek stiffened before he could stop himself and Sheriff Stilinski just nodded.

“It used to belong to your grandfather, right? Lyall?” he asked, even though he obviously knew the answer. “Good man, always trying to make things easier on people. He built the Beacon Metro Rail Runner just because a few ladies complained about trying to commute into the city from here. It was a shame your sister chose not to keep it open when you two left.” He gave him a measured look. “Although considering you’re sleeping in an abandoned subway car most nights, I suppose it worked out fine in the end for you.”

Derek was on his feet in an instant and backing away from the table. He ground his teeth together as his fangs threatened to extend in response to what he currently perceived as a threat, his claws hidden at his sides as he curled his hands tight. He looked to his left, eyes on the front door, and then back to the sheriff who rose to his feet slowly.

“Just how long have you been watching me?” he asked, an angry edge to his tone even as his throat felt too dry, making the words come out hoarsely.

Sheriff Stilinski sighed heavily, but made no move to advance closer. “Since my son recanted his allegations of you for that night at the school, and Scott McCall and Jackson Whittemore did the same. At first, I thought you had gotten to them somehow,” he admitted, raising up a hand to cease the protest. “But then Stiles mentioned the night of the winter formal that he knew you better than he let on. You are still a person of interest, though, so we have been keeping tabs on you since you were exonerated.”

It had been about a month since Stiles had said something close to that effect. “ _You’re still a person of interest._ ” He hadn’t really thought too hard about what it meant at the time. Derek had known he was innocent, and since the police weren’t actively hunting him down anymore once they knew it too, he had mistakenly figured that it was over.

“Although,” the sheriff began wryly. “To be fair, I didn’t take a _personal_ interest until I saw the surveillance video of you and my son.”

Derek nodded, no longer quite as startled as before. “The diner,” he said, thinking back when all of this between him and Stiles had first began. Things were much simpler then, back when they both were forced into cooperating against their will. The only touches then were full of violence and aggression, nothing like the tender exchanges now that made him long for more.

“No,” Sheriff Stilinski smirked coolly at his surprised confusion. “The one of you flirting with my deputy to distract her while my son scowled and skulked his way toward my office.”

Derek felt his eyes widen unexpectedly.

“… Oh,” he said faintly after a moment. He had thought the only cameras were the ones Stiles mentioned in the hallway and in the cells, the latter of which had been disabled at the time. It never occurred to him that there might have been others. He looked up as the man laughed loudly, apparently thoroughly amused with the turn their conversation had taken. “There is… a good explanation for that.”

He just had to think of it first.

“Of that I have no doubt,” the sheriff said in reply, gruffly though not unkindly. “I’m sure you have a good explanation for why you are living in an abandoned warehouse that was once used to manufacture and store subway cars too when you have quite a bit of money saved up from insurance claims, but considering I probably wouldn’t get an honest answer out of you anyway, I just want to know when you plan to get a real place to live.”

Derek flushed slightly, wondering if he was that transparent or if the man was simply just too observant for his own good. His explanation would have been nowhere near as inventive as one Stiles could have come up with, though, so perhaps it was for the best. He could be honest about the money though. He was better than well off, he knew that, but he rarely delved into the money he had received from the life insurance policies.

It was all blood money.

Laura had been the same way about it, using the money only to keep the family properties in their name and to pay for the treatment Peter had received at the long-term care facility. He would be using it to build a new home though. He would be building a new home for the pack, and he couldn’t imagine a better use for the money he never wanted. But he still couldn’t let the sheriff know too many details, even though Derek still maintained that bringing the sheriff into the fold would be beneficial to the pack.

The man was obviously paying far more attention to the situation than any of them had realized, and it was truly only a matter of time before he discovered it. It was just another inevitability that was bound to happen no matter how much they all strove to prevent it. Derek would rather do it on their terms, where they had a chance to explain it all and answer any questions immediately, than have the sheriff discover it all by chance and be angry with Stiles and the rest for not telling him sooner.

If only Derek could convince Stiles of that fact.

Derek would normally concede that allowing a human to enter this life was dangerous, because there was never a certainty about how that person would react, but everything would be so much simpler if the sheriff knew. He had no doubt it would help mend the rift between father and son if nothing else. Maybe not mended entirely, but certainly enough to begin the healing process between them—they both deserved to trust each other with everything, the way that Derek suspected they used to.

“I have an appointment with an architect tomorrow morning,” Derek told him honestly, and it was a good thing this had been brought up too, because with everything going on the past few days, he had almost forgotten all about it. “We will be going over a few plans to build a new house on one of the vacant properties.”

Sheriff Stilinski nodded thoughtfully. “Good,” he said. “What about in the meantime?”

“… Sir?”

“Construction takes time,” the man reminded him gently. “Sometimes it can take months, maybe even a year to complete even with a simple project because there is the plans, which have to be both designed and approved of, the wiring, the plumbing, and inspections to deal with too. I think it’s great you’re meeting with an architect, but this is still a long-term project. So where do you plan to live in the meantime?”

“I…” Derek had honestly not thought about it beyond meeting with the architect. He had assumed that he would just remain in the warehouse until construction was finished, but apparently the sheriff seemed to object to the notion. He floundered briefly for an answer, uncertain what he could say, and eventually he just went with the truth. “… I don’t know.”

Sheriff Stilinski nodded sagely as if that had been the answer he was expecting all along, and sighed with genuine concern. “Let me know when you figure it out,” he said. “Or you can stop by the office one day and we can look up some affordable apartments.”

Derek could only stare at him in bewilderment.

Sometimes humans, particularly of the Stilinski variety, made no sense at all. He had been certain that the man was going to discharge an entire clip of bullets into him not more than fifteen minutes ago after finding him in bed with his son, but here he was, offering to help him find a place to live. He wasn’t sure he could formulate an adequate response, so he simply nodded his head.

“Good,” the sheriff said sharply, tucking the abandoned bottle of whiskey back into the liquor cabinet along the wall and gathering their cups. “Now, do you know how to cook? I’m useless in the kitchen. Coffee is about the only thing I can make, and even then I like mine stronger than most people.”

“So do I,” Derek offered in response, following him into the kitchen. He stood by the door, uncertain what else to do with himself. “And uh, no, I’m not good at cooking either.”

Sheriff Stilinski scratched at his chin thoughtfully. “Good thing we have Stiles then,” he said lightly. “That boy takes after his mother in that department. They used to spend hours in here, playing with recipes and the like.”

Derek nodded. “Yeah, he’s mentioned that.”

The man paused in front of the refrigerator, one hand still outstretched and reaching. He stood there like that for a moment too long before continuing the move to open the door. “He talks to you about his mother?” the sheriff asked, voice barely above a whisper, and the question seemed to be more directed at himself than to Derek.

“… Sometimes.”

Moira Stilinski had only been the subject of a few comments, and one very short but poignant conversation in the diner. From what he had been able to gather from those moments Stiles had adored her completely, had spent every waking moment trying to learn with her, and had been utterly devastated when she had passed away five years ago. He was still unaware of the circumstances, but Derek got the impression that she had died slowly.

Sheriff Stilinski allowed the refrigerator door to shut without removing anything. His scent, though, was a mixture of grief and surprise, and he turned around with an odd expression on his face—not the unreadable one from earlier that spoke of death and dismemberment, but something a bit kinder.

A slight creak in the stairway interrupted whatever the man might have said at that point, alerting them both to the fact that the others were awake. They entered the kitchen slowly, shuffling their way inside with Stiles at the lead and Isaac hovering right behind him. They were both still half asleep, mouths still half open and caught midway through a yawn, and their hair was tousled and standing up in places.

Neither looked particularly surprised to find Derek there, so he suspected that Isaac had informed Stiles of what happened before they came down. The former moved toward the coffee pot without delay, while the latter smiled lopsidedly as he seated himself down upon one of the small stools at the kitchen island and rested his chin in the palm of his hand.

“Morning,” Stiles said tiredly, though he seemed to light up when Isaac placed a cup of coffee down directly in front of him.

Derek raised an eyebrow in question at his beta, but the younger wolf raised his chin defiantly and sipped his own piping hot beverage without explaining. His eyes shifted between the two of them curiously, noting with amusement how they seemed to lean on each other without even realizing it as Isaac took the remaining stool, their shoulders brushing too frequently to be an accident.

“Morning, boys,” Sheriff Stilinski said, smiling wryly as he noticed the touching as well, but chose not to mention it. “Sleep well?”

Stiles looked up with a baleful glare. “You know I did, you conniving old man,” he said accusingly, bowing his head and burying his face into his forearms. “The worst part is I’m still tired. Can we put an end to this torture?”

“Can you walk without pain?”

Stiles went boneless in his seat. “No,” he uttered sullenly, and there was a tiny, inconsequential stutter in his heartbeat at the denial that was not all lie, but definitely not all truth either. He turned his head slightly, golden brown eyes seeking out Derek. His lips quirked into a small smile as if they were sharing a secret and in a way they were, considering that Derek had healed him as much as possible the night before.

Derek had hoped that the pain was minimal now, possibly just a small ache or tender feeling rather than the sharp shooting pains that had plagued him before. It was good to know that it had worked out. He pursed his own lips to stave off the automatic way his own lips curled in response to the smile and went to get a refill of coffee himself.

It was decidedly odd how domestic everything felt, and apparently Derek was not the only one who felt awkward about it. He shuffled his feet and sipped at the coffee in silence, unsure what else to do. Sheriff Stilinski had begun rummaging through cabinets, doing a poor job of trying to look occupied, and an even worse one of trying to appear as though he were not taking in every look and gesture and analyzing it all with great scrutiny. In contrast Isaac looked as if he were taking the exchange in with great amusement.

Stiles groaned after about two minutes of this, patience having never been one of his virtues. He stood from the stool and grabbed the back of his father’s shirt and pulled him away from the cabinets. “You are not going to find anything to eat in the tupperware cabinet!” he said in exasperation, urging the man out of the room. “Get out of my kitchen.”

Sheriff Stilinski looked over his shoulder. “At least let me grab a box of cereal,” he complained, a fond tone to his voice that belied the disapproving frown on his face.

“If you mean the bran one with the bag of powdered donuts hidden inside of it,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Isaac already sniffed them out. Nice trick by the way. Hope you don’t mind, but we shared words and decided that it was just too much sugar for you to handle, old man. We were very happy to help you out by removing the temptation. Now out!”

Stiles grinned outright at the stricken look his father gave him. The sheriff then turned to Isaac with a brief look of betrayal before finally conceding and allowing himself to be pushed toward the living room. Derek managed to make his snort sound like he was clearing his throat when he caught sight of the pout on the other man’s face.

“And just what are you laughing at, Sourwolf?”

_Uh oh…_

Derek looked up with his eyebrows raised. “What?”

“ _What_ he says,” Stiles scoffed loudly, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head. “Don’t you _what_ me. I’ve cooked with you before, dude. You’re more of a menace than he is! Don’t think I’ve forgotten the thumb incident.” He shuddered. “There are just some things you can’t unsee, and I think I’ve been traumatized enough by your lack of knife skills.”

With a petulant frown Derek began to obey, but hesitated when he realized that he was the only one moving. “Why does Isaac get to stay?”

Stiles turned to look at the beta in question, his head tilting momentarily in thought. He nodded a second later, seemingly coming to a conclusion. “Isaac is my Bambi, and I am the alpha of this kitchen, and what I say goes! Also, Isaac is polite, helpful, and makes some damn good Eggs Benedict.” He raised his hand and pointed toward the direction his father had sulked off in. “Now get the hell out!”

 _My Bambi?_ Derek wondered to himself, something flashing through him that felt remarkably like jealousy as he decided it best to just obey. He joined the sheriff in the living room, sitting down upon the couch. He frowned to himself, realizing just how irrational it was to be envious of his own beta for being able to stay in the kitchen and be called pet names, but he couldn’t help but feel it a bit slighted even as he sat there somewhat stunned by his own reaction.

“So!” Sheriff Stilinski said amiably.

Derek stiffened at the overly bright tone, proverbial alarm bells sounding off in his head. He turned to look at the man, trying to keep the wariness off of his own face, but it was difficult when the sheriff smiled widely at him like that. He watched as the man leaned forward, elbows resting atop his thighs as he steepled his fingers together beneath his chin.

It was then Derek realized that this exile from the kitchen left him alone with the sheriff. Again. Swell. Wonderful. Such little joys tended to brighten up his dismal life. A soft cackle came from the kitchen followed by a muffled chuckle, the two occupants apparently having come to the same conclusion he had.

“Tell me, Derek,” the man said casually. “Do you plan to finish your education? You are halfway through a general studies degree, right?”

Screw astute. The man was just plain terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited July 26, 2013 by TamIsMyFather.


	23. Twisted Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This should be a good thing, because loneliness was a trap, it could inspire dark, twisted emotions that threatened to suffocate, and a little comfort could make all the difference.

### Twisted Emotions

The silence of the room was broken by a soft _click_ as the latch was unlocked, followed by a long, drawn-out squeak of the hinges as the door was pushed upward. The floorboards gave a slightly ominous creak as Stiles stepped onto the landing, his side barely giving off the slightest twinge from the effort of climbing.

It had taken a bit of persuasion and possibly even a bit of pouting before Stiles had convinced anyone that he was perfectly capable of climbing the old, rickety drop-down ladder himself. He was feeling fine physically and maintained that everyone was worried about nothing, so no one needed to follow him, but in truth, the company was appreciated.

Stiles had not been inside of this room for months. Not since last year in fact, just after discovering the harbored possessions. It was just… difficult.

Boxes filled most of the open space that stretched over the heart of the house, piled high to the pitched ceiling, whilst the walls were lined with certain pieces of furniture that had long since been forgotten and left collecting dust. Piles of books were everywhere to be seen, everything from science fiction and high fantasy novels to detailed memoirs and biographies, all stacked on top of one another and threatening to topple over.

_The smell is what makes this the hardest_ , Stiles thought. It was so hard to breathe in the smell of ginger and citrus, that fragrant smell that evoked strong memories of the warmest of embraces and days of laughter, only for it to be tainted by just how stale the air was from being trapped up in the cold, dark attic for almost eight years. The vanity against the wall smelled of it the strongest, old bottles of lotions and perfumes set out next to the sparse collection of jewelry, all layered beneath a thick sheet of filth.

Another soft creak in the floorboards urged Stiles to move. He stepped further into the neglected attic and began surveying the script written on the outside of the cardboard boxes, trying not to dwell on anything for more than a cursory glance in his pursuit. He heard soft inhales behind him as Isaac joined him, the young werewolf obviously scenting the air as surreptitiously as possible.

“There should be a few somewhere over here,” Stiles told him, already moving toward a cluster of smaller boxes that were beneath the only window in the room. He moved to kneel down in order to reach one, but paused as the movement smarted a bit. He exhaled subtly, hoping it would go unnoticed, though it was a failed attempt.

It was no use though.

Isaac placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got it.” He moved around him, bending down with ease to retrieve the box. He turned it over in his hands for a moment, before raising one eyebrow in question. “What are we looking for exactly?” he asked, breathing in deeply for a second and flexing his fingers. He used a claw to tear through the tape.

Inside were a few old photographs of what looked like a birthday celebration. They were nothing special really, the print faded and yellowing, and looked to be mostly extended family. It was not the box they needed though, so Stiles shook his head and gestured for the next one. That one held more of the same, but this one contained photos of a barbeque in the backyard from when Stiles was maybe four or so, judging by the image of him holding onto his grandmother.

“… Is this you?” Isaac asked, reaching inside to grab one picture.

Stiles glanced at it briefly, and then quickly averted his eyes. “Yeah,” he said absently, an ache forming in his chest at the sight of himself standing on a stool in the kitchen, desperately trying to lick cake batter off of a spoon. His mother was right behind him in that one, a wide smile on her face as she tried to wrestle it from him to keep him from ingesting raw eggs.

“You were so _small_ ,” the other boy said in fascination. He was staring at it intently, a question obviously on his tongue. It was never voiced though, and Isaac turned the picture over to look at the back. “Third birthday, Mama and…” he began to recite, only to pause with a peculiar look etched across his features. “I have no idea how to pronounce that.”

Flushing in slight embarrassment, Stiles snatched the photograph right out of his hands and held it out of reach. He gave the back a cursory glance, wincing at the entirety of his name spelled out in beautiful, curling script. “You and most of the world,” he griped defensively, though it lacked any bite. He carefully tucked the image back inside and closed the lid. “Try another one.”

One by one they searched through the boxes. There were quite a few of them to go through, but thankfully Isaac seemed to understand how difficult this was and was tactful enough not to linger on the photographs for too long. He did occasionally stop on something that caught his eye, but there were very few questions about the contents of the images.

They decided to split up a bit, divide and conquer as it were to sort through all of the boxes in half the time. A few of them actually had paperwork, some sort of legal documents and such that actually belonged to one John Stilinski, but the majority were things taken from the old photo albums and scrapbooks. Eventually Stiles came across one that was a bit heavier than the others, and inside were a bunch of photographs encased in wooden frames.

Stiles nudged the other boy with an elbow. “Found them,” he said triumphantly, carefully passing the box over to him. “Go through these and pick whichever one you like, okay? To replace that broken frame,” he added when Isaac gave him a confused look. “I told you we had some frames up here, remember?”

For a moment Isaac stared at him hesitantly, but a half smile worked its way onto his lips a second later. “… Thanks,” he said quietly, folding himself down onto the floor and setting the box in his lap so he could look at his leisure.

“No problem,” Stiles promised him. He left him to that task, and gave the room another quick survey, trying to pinpoint where to begin the next phase of the search. The picture frame to replace the one of Camden Lahey was only one thing he wanted to accomplish today. He decided to start with a small pile of hardcover books sitting atop an old dresser, tall enough that bending down to sort through it all would not be a problem.

A soft vibration resonating from the breast pocket of the flannel shirt Stiles was wearing made him pause in his pursuit. He loved his new phone. It was exactly like the one that had suffered water damage, but perhaps the best part about this one was that when Stiles had gone to program it a few nights prior, he had discovered that someone had already gone through and set everything up—the contacts, the specifications, and even some customized ringtones.

Most of it was obviously done by Scott, because it was already password protected with the default code Stiles always used. Just as Stiles knew that _@ll1$0n_ —though only after Stiles managed to convince him that _Allison_ was just much too simplistic—was the default password for every device his best friend owned, Scott was the only one who would have known how to program the phone correctly.

Unlocking the screen now, the display read: _School sucks without you._

Stiles snorted. “No shit,” he muttered, typing off a quick reply.

Scott had taken to sending him little updates this week, to let him know the intricate details of the goings-on of Beacon Hills High School. There had apparently been quite a bit going on in fact, most of which did not bode well for Stiles and the others. The fact that their asshole principal had installed a new security system throughout the school, with some sort of high definition camera system down every single hallway, was definitely a problem.

Everyone would have to be careful about controlling themselves. They could not afford any momentary slips to be immortalized on film as proof to Gerard Argent. He may have already guessed that something was not exactly normal about Scott, Isaac, Boyd, and Erica, but if Gerard was just waiting for some sort of confirmation on their identities before making a move, Stiles was not willing to let the others reveal themselves.

The new students were definitely going to be the biggest issue though. Outwardly they may have been the shy newcomers, but the wolves had all scented wolfsbane and gun oil around them, which indicated that their extracurricular activities might entail secret hunting skills. They had started school yesterday and a few of them had already seemed to hone in on the pack, so much that Scott had begun to sit with Erica and Boyd during lunch.

It was not that Stiles had forgotten the warning from last week. Chris Argent had been rather clear that there were quite a few hunters in town, and that many of them had children that would be attending the high school. He had just been hoping for a nice, peaceful day back in two days, one without a welcoming committee that might not be all that welcoming due to the company he kept.

That is probably what had Stiles worried the most. He feared what would happen if one of the newcomers would recognize him. He was the one that had gotten their friends arrested for attempted murder and then killed by a psychotic overgrown lizard, after all, despite the fact that those idiots had brought it all on themselves by making a target out of him. He was not worried as much for himself as he was for the pack though.

Their little protection detail two weeks ago had been mild, if not a little forceful in order to assure cooperation. This last week everyone seemed to have gained the mentality that _Stiles almost died_ , which came with the unfortunate side effect of _Overprotective Werewolf._ If those little hunters-in-training tried anything… the pack would retaliate, probably in some public capacity in front of the whole school, and it would likely be captured on film as well.

Stiles had initially been looking forward to returning, but now… now it just seemed like it would cause more problems. He was really hoping that these nagging doubts would go away, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was going to be an issue. The only consolation was that Scott seemed to have taken some kind of leadership role among the others, coaching them during the day on how to keep control.

_Some chick just hit on Erica!_ Scott texted eventually, and Stiles grinned widely as he set about sorting through the books, checking the names listed on the covers.

Erica seemed to adore the attention by the hormonal population of males and even a few females, but so far people had been keeping their distance from the she-wolf. This was the first time Stiles had heard anything about someone approaching her. Stiles chalked it up to the whole predator thing, and the fact that Erica seemed to have become unapproachable and unattainable after the bite.

_How did she react?_

It took a few moments for Scott to respond, but Stiles was in no hurry. He set the pile he was working on aside and began on another. _Flustered! Her face is still all red, but she was cool about it… in a scary, seductive sort of way. Boyd looks kind of pissed though_ **.**

That was actually a bit surprising. Ever since Boyd and Erica had taken the bite, Stiles knew they had become friends and sat together during lunch and in shared classes. They seemed friendly enough, though a bit hesitant. He had never noticed any indication before that there may have been something between them, but then again, the last time Stiles had been around them both at the same time was two weeks ago.

Stiles was tempted to ask Isaac if he had seen anything when meeting up at the warehouse, but the other boy seemed engrossed in rummaging through the picture frames they had found. He wondered if it was just Boyd. He hoped not, because Boyd seemed like a good guy, even if he was attracted to irritable blondes that had a lot of anger issues. He guessed he would just have to wait and see for himself in a few days.

Considering that Stiles had been stabbed just last week and had  had to undergo surgery, the wound was healing at an incredible rate. He had better mobility now, although twisting a certain way would send thousands of little needle pinpricks up his torso. That whole medicinal saliva thing the werewolves did was sort of awesome, like a glimpse of what having super healing might be like, even if it was twice as embarrassing as it was arousing.

The only problem with the wound being closed is that Stiles kept overestimating just how healed he was. He would stretch without thinking just because the pain was minimal and the moment his arms were above his head, a yelp would work its way out of his throat. It had sent Scott into a bit of a panic yesterday when it came time for his shift to play the overprotective bodyguard for the night, which had ended waking Isaac up who likewise came to see what the commotion was about in some sort of frenzy. Stiles had woken to find them both asleep in his room, on the desk and the floor respectively.

It would have been entertaining had it not been for the attack yesterday morning.

 Stiles was still a bit disturbed to realize just how easily both of the overgrown lizards had slipped through those keen werewolf senses undetected. He was even more distressed to realize how close one of them had gotten to murdering both Derek and Isaac. The most troubling fact of all was perhaps that the creatures could have done more, they could have eviscerated both of them in the night and then done whatever else… and Stiles would never have even realized it until the next morning because he had been drugged up to the gills to the point of oblivion.

Stiles had been utterly useless in that medicated sleep, unable to do nothing more than lie there while Isaac was nearly suffocated and Derek fought against the effects of potent venom from an incredibly bad bite. He felt well enough now, despite the tenderness, and would have forgone the pain medications entirely if his father hadn’t decided to carefully monitor his intake.

They had been lucky this time; all of them were just so incredibly lucky, that the creatures seemed to be far more concerned with battling each other than anyone else. It was pure chance that these things disliked each other more than the wolves for whatever reason. Next time… Stiles was honestly terrified of what could happen next time. Those things had felled the entire sheriff’s department within minutes and had managed to dispatch the lives of six individuals without so much as being seen, and now they had come into his house.

This was the one place that was supposed to feel secure, because this… this was _home_ , and it was meant to be a safe haven. Stiles had never _not_ felt safe here before; even when coming home to find fugitive werewolves using his bedroom as a sanctuary or eavesdropping she-wolves with unresolved anger. To have whatever semblance of safety done away by a singular incident that caused two people Stiles cared about immeasurable pain… it felt like a violation.

It _was_ a violation and one that would not go unpunished either. Stiles was done waiting for something bad to happen, especially within his own home. He was done with watching his friends force themselves to stay awake in rotating shifts to ensure his safety. He was done with feeling like some sort of helpless human who can only watch from the sidelines while everyone else fights and gets hurt.

No one was going to get hurt like that again. He was donning the resolve face now, determined to see this through until the end and figure out just why the hell this was all happening, and never let it be said that once Stiles Stilinski set his mind to something that it wouldn’t happen. He would _make_ it happen.

Stiles had found a way to inhibit the werewolves before. He had been the one to order wolfsbane online and use it to create weapons. He had modified a canister of pepper spray, designed specifically to bring a werewolf down; he had been the one to carefully weave wolfsbane through a rope and make it look like some sort of decorative hangings along his ceiling. He just had to figure out what the kanima was vulnerable to, hence the other reason for venturing into the attic.

There were certain books somewhere up here among the multitude of fiction novels and autobiographies, certain tomes that could possibly aid in translating that damn book. The bestiary held the key to protecting everyone; he had been struggling for almost four weeks to decipher it—not quite as diligently as he initially intended to, but whenever there was a spare moment he made the attempt to get as much done as possible.

Once the languages had finally been identified, Stiles had gone through decrypting a couple paragraphs of each chapter, of each _creature_ ,in order to find the correct one. It would take too much time to translate each page in order, because there was just too much content on each page and not enough hours in the day to be able to get through them all in their entirety.

He wished he could say they were alphabetized, because any sort of point of reference locating the kanima section would have been an immense relief. Unfortunately nothing in the book seemed to fall into any particular categorization, and the anecdotal treatise was vast with every supernatural creature known to one of the most prestigious hunting families in existence.

The section on the kanima was nearly midway through the book, and seemed to encompass something near to eight or ten long pages of the bestiary, these ones exclusively in an archaic language that Stiles was still trying to learn. He preferred the ones wholly or at least partially written in French. Those were the ones that went quickly, that he could look over and get a general idea of the sort of creature being described without having to pull out a book and seek out certain key words to reference.

It would help if Stiles had found books better suited to learning outside of a classroom environment, because the ones he had initially purchased off of the internet were proving to be a bit inadequate for what he needed them for. They were the kind that needed lectures and instruction, not something that could help him understand how to learn it on his own. Which is why Stiles needed something better to read from, something immediate that would not have to be processed and shipped and would take one to two weeks to arrive.

Stiles might have been slightly anxious and perhaps even a bit delirious last week when speaking with his father about this particular dead language, but he distinctly recalled something about journals being stored up here… written in the very language Stiles needed to translate. His mother had to have bought books on the subject at one point, which meant that somewhere in this place was probably exactly what he needed.

He just had to find it.

Stiles was about to move onto the fourth pile of books when a large ornate chest caught his eye. It was the one that used to be at the foot of the bed in the master bedroom, a flattop trunk made of strong wood and trimmed with clinched steel bindings that were burnished, now buried beneath a couple of old linens. He cleared the top of it carefully before kneeling down and using the key already inside of the lock, the lid coming open easily. He pursed his lip in thought when he saw the nondescript leather-bound books. He scoured through them a bit, selecting one of the thinner volumes to look through.

The text was written in calligraphy, black and curling in the same neat script that had been written on the back of the photograph from earlier. “Jackpot,” Stiles murmured, turning a few pages curiously. There were a few words that stood out to him, but nothing really noteworthy, and he recognized names written inside as well. _Excitatus_ , for instance, was used in reference to _John_ quite a few times; therefore Stiles decided it was best that some of these pages were never, ever translated for the sake of his sanity.

These journals were just the private thoughts of his mother judging by what little Stiles could decipher. Admittedly, these weren’t quite what he was looking for, but he couldn’t deny a bit of curiosity to what was written inside… except for the ones that seemed to hold explicit content that no child should ever have to read about their parents enacting. Maybe once Stiles became proficient enough, he would look through them again one day.

“Hey, Stiles…?”

Isaac was sitting crossed legged with picture frames scattered all around him. He was giving him a probing look, something hesitant in his eyes. “What is this?” He held up one of the images, but instead of a photograph inside, it was just a piece of paper that had been scribbled on with a few vibrant crayons.

“Oh, that?” Stiles shrugged. “I used to draw a lot.”

The other boy nodded, gesturing to most of the frames in his lap. “There are a lot of them.”

“My cousin Felicyta is an artist, and I kind of idolized her when I was little,” he admitted sheepishly. “She bought me one of those art kits that come with paints, crayons, markers, and colored pencils one year and I kind of decided I was the next big artist until I was eight and discovered video games instead. … Mom started to hang them up on the walls when we ran out of room on the refrigerator.”

Isaac stilled in an instant, already about halfway through with unhooking the back of the frame to remove the drawing. “Should I…?” he said uncertainly, a hesitant look on his face.

“Use whichever one you want, Isaac,” Stiles told him plainly, giving him a slight reassuring smile. Everything had been taken down for a reason. Most things had just been too hard to look at knowing who they belonged to, but what was worse was seeing everything locked away to rot. It would be better if these things were put to use.

“Are you sure?”

“Positively absolutely,” Stiles grinned in reply. “Just leave the drawing anywhere. I really don’t care about a—” He squinted at the crude sketch “—blotchy mesh of yellows and oranges and reds that I probably made when I was seven. And can you help me go through these once you’re done, please?”

Isaac nodded, finishing up with his task, and then joining him “Do you still draw?”

“Hell no,” Stiles shook his head adamantly. “Never was any good at it. Felicyta tried to teach me once, sat me down in front of a bowl of fruit and told me to draw what I saw. It came out looking like two red apples gone wrong in the ugliest looking bowl ever.” He gave Isaac a side glance and shook his head. “That one was so bad that it never even made it onto the wall _or_ the fridge.”

They both snickered at that as they rummaged through the old trunk. Isaac seemed to have caught on to what Stiles was looking for, because he sorted through them with the same amount of purpose. Most of the journals seemed to have taken up the top compartment, but once that was lifted away there was a great deal more inside. Small objects were wrapped up in embroidered handkerchiefs, while two rectangular timber cases seemed to hold more paperwork, and wedged right between those cases and the interior wall of the chest were a handful of paperback books.

Stiles selected one and immediately began flipping through the pages. Just a cursory look through was encouraging, because it was definitely a beginner book that seemed to have a lot of exercises in it, but also a very detailed answer key in the back. He grabbed another one, and this one had some notations written inside the margins by his mother. He grinned.

“These are perfect,” he said, already piling all of the books and journals back inside the bottom compartment of the chest. He secured the latches and looked to Isaac. “Hey man, can you help me carry this downstairs to my room? I’m not sure how many I might need, and I kind of don’t want to have to come back up here in case I need more.”

Isaac merely shrugged and hefted the large trunk up with ease. He looked a bit ridiculous if not a bit impressive, because the chest obviously weighed more than both he and Stiles put together just from the sturdy wood it was crafted out of, let alone while filled with a multitude of heavy books and knickknacks. Together they made their way back down the ladder, and Stiles made sure to grab the empty picture frame before they closed the attic up.

“Are you ready for lunch?” Isaac asked as he set the heavy container down, placing it near the bookcase for now. He took hold of the picture frame while waiting for an answer, raising an inquiring eyebrow.

“Not really,” Stiles told him dismissively, eager to begin immediately. He needed to read through that book as quickly as possible first, which would probably take quite a bit of time if he used the worksheets in order to help him memorize everything. He retrieved the book and was about to plant himself down on the bed in order to get started, only to be stopped cold by the other boy asking another question.

“Are you sure?” he persisted.

Stiles stared down hard at the cover of the book, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth in thought. Was he sure? He had not taken much consideration to answer the first question. It had practically gone through one ear and out the other. He considered it now. Breakfast this morning had been a simple bowl of oatmeal and a piece of buttered toast, something his stomach was grateful for after the rich eggs and Hollandaise sauce from yesterday morning.

That had been six or seven hours ago according to the clock on the desk. He felt a slight burn in his stomach. Not quite prevalent enough to be starving, but the slight pangs of hunger were apparent so he was hungrier than he had initially thought. He was supposed to be trying to eat a little more now, because he had made a promise to himself that he would try not to skip meals anymore.

Stiles gave the book a longing but resigned look. Any attempt to get out of eating lunch would not be tolerated now that he had actually acknowledged that he could stand to eat. He very much doubted that Isaac would be willing to let him get away with it besides. He set the book on the bedside table and gave the other boy a half smile.

“I could eat,” he admitted with reluctance.

They worked together in the kitchen to make toasted turkey sandwiches on Parmesan bagels. Isaac stacked them with two different types of melted cheeses, and Stiles made sure to put on a healthy pile of tomatoes and lettuce each before they topped it off with a smear of mayonnaise and mustard respectively. They ate in the living room, settled down next to each other on the couch, watching reruns of old television shows.

“It is almost time for the meds.” Isaac said, interrupting the comfortable silence about ten minutes later, when all that was left on his plate were crumbs and a pile of lettuce. Stiles felt his eye twitch when he realized that the lanky wolf had apparently picked it all off of his sandwich, just like a certain sheriff usually did.

“Am I the only person in this family that actually likes my vegetables?” Stiles complained. “First dad with the arugula, which, okay, yeah it can be a bit spicy and sort of peppery, but it was awesome with that vinaigrette I made! And now you won’t even eat a lousy piece of lettuce?” he harrumphed. “You both are impossible!”

There was no answer or even a grumbled defense in reply. For a long moment there was only the sound of the television filling the room, and the silence eventually made Stiles look up to see if Isaac had actually vacated the living room without him noticing. He was still sitting in the exact same place, though there was a peculiar expression on his face.

Stiles examined him anxiously, immediately taking note of the sort of overwhelmed countenance. He drew in a slight breath, shoulders tensing, wondering if he had accidentally raised his voice. He hadn’t meant to. “Isaac?” he said tentatively. “You really don’t have to eat it. I mean, it’s just a piece of lettuce. No big deal, okay?”

The words seemed to bring Isaac out of it, his blue eyes flashing with disbelief as they met his apprehensive gaze. Then the other teen released a laugh, something that sounded more like a soft huff than anything. Isaac shook his head and smiled, and it was probably one of the most genuine looks that Stiles had ever seen on him.

“I _really_ hate lettuce,” Isaac said, his voice full of abject disgust. “But I ate all of the tomatoes. That has to count for something, right? Or did I just earn myself a lifetime ban on powdered doughnuts too?”

Stiles eyed him uncertainly for a moment longer, and then allowed a slow grin to take over when it became apparent that whatever had happened was over. “I think I could just let you off with a warning this time, but only because you are a werewolf and I doubt we have to worry as much about your cholesterol.”

“That’s a relief,” he said, adding slyly, “Because I still have the doughnuts we found in the cereal box the other day up in my room…”

Stiles gave him a devious smile, ready to indulge in some the contraband substances they had confiscated together days ago, when his phone interrupted. He tensed automatically the moment he realized who was calling and quickly answered. “Dad?” he asked urgently. “Is everything okay?”

“ _My day has been going great actually, unless you have something you need to tell me…?_ ” the sheriff replied, his tone turning a bit dry there toward the end.

Stiles stifled a cackle, gesturing wildly for Isaac to go up the stairs to retrieve their dessert. “Nope,” he drawled, holding the syllables for as long as possible to imply just the opposite. “We are not doing _anything_. No sir, no illegal possession of fried confectionery bathed in a heavenly layer of powdered sugar whatsoever.”

“… _You’re grounded._ ”

“Isaac and I are destroying the evidence as we speak,” Stiles said, gratefully accepting a handful of small rings from the boy in question. He bit into one, savoring the sweet taste for a moment, and then spoke around his food. He meant to say, “ _You can’t prove anything, old man!_ ” but the half masticated food in his mouth made it come out as gibberish.

Stiles paused when an odd crinkling noise traveled over the speaker.

“You’re eating chips!” he accused.

“ _Prove it_ ,” the man said easily, followed by the deliberate sound of a chip being crushed between teeth and slowly chewed. “ _Speaking of eating, son, were you planning on making anything tonight?_ ”

“Considering the fact that you are currently consuming a food prohibited by your diet,” Stiles said brightly. “I suppose some nice and spicy butternut squash and ginger soup would be great for dinner! Don’t you think? I know how much you _love_ that one. Maybe even with an arugula salad on the side?”

“ _Now there’s no need for threats, son,_ ” his dad grumbled. “ _Actually, I wanted to tell you to put any cooking plans you have on hold, because dinner is already taken care of._ ”

Stiles frowned. “Okay…?”

“ _Just take it easy tonight._ ”

“You are being incredibly cryptic and vague,” he grumbled in suspicion, sending a sideways glance at his companion who merely shrugged. “If it is pizza again, you can forget it, but I’m not entirely opposed to curly fries as long as you order grilled chicken instead of a hamburger and a side of veggies for yourself.”

“ _Don’t push it, kid._ ” His dad had the audacity to snort. “ _Is Scott coming over again tonight?_ ”

“It’s Tuesday,” Stiles intoned carefully. “Scotty is putting in hours at the clinic.”

“ _What about Hale?_ ”

Stiles rolled his eyes in exasperated amusement, the guarded tone reminding him all too much of yesterday morning. There had been something unmistakably impish about the innocent expression that graced his father’s face when in reference to the alpha and Stiles had recognized it as the same exact look that crossed his own features whenever he was feeling particularly mischievous himself.

Such a pleasant expression on the face of a Stilinski obviously meant trouble for whomever it was directed to, and poor, unsuspecting Derek Hale had been on the receiving end of this precise brand of mischief for about four hours yesterday. The poor guy had looked nervous if not outright intimidated while being so unsubtly interrogated, his posture rigid while he sat uncomfortably on the couch in the ridiculously ill-fitting borrowed shirt.

Derek been resilient enough to make it through the questions and come out unscathed, but the man had looked incredibly young throughout the whole ordeal. Today was apparently a busy day for Derek though, what with having to meet with an architect about constructing a new house and having to train with the visiting alpha to get better control before the full moon, and unfortunately it all meant that the sourwolf would be absent all day probably.

“Busy today,” Stiles muttered, trying to keep the pout out of his voice. “He said that he would take me to my appointment to get that blood work done tomorrow though. It should just be the three of us tonight.”

“ _Alright then, I’ll see you boys in a few hours._ _Love you, kiddo._ ”

Stiles returned the sentiment and disconnected the call, polishing off the rest of the doughnuts in record time with a thoughtful frown. “That man is definitely up to something,” he declared knowingly. “He was being too ambiguous and evasive.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow. “I think that is a genetic trait.”

“Exactly!” Stiles said, as though that were confirmation enough. To be fair though, it probably was. “Did you hear that question about Scott? It’s Tuesday. Scott always works on Tuesdays. Asking was a deflection tactic.”

The truth be told, Stiles was not all that up to cooking dinner anyway. Building sandwiches and cooking them in the toaster oven was one thing, but standing in the kitchen for hours to cook a large meal they would probably only eat a little bit of did not sound all that appealing today, especially not when it came time to take the pain medications that messed with his head. His father would definitely notice if he forwent the pills since he had taken to counting them, so Stile had no other option but to do as he was told.

Now well fed with at least eighty percent of a turkey bagel, Stiles took the pills with a handful of reluctance and a swig of iced tea. He noticed the vague heaviness in his mind on the way up the stairs a few minutes later, the swift-acting pills already providing a fuzzy quality to his thoughts. He sighed to himself, knowing before even settling down in bed with the book that the drowsiness would kick in soon.

Stiles tried to remain vigilant, to stay awake in order to finish at least one chapter before falling asleep, but lost the battle at the ending paragraphs of page two. He conked out listening to the soft sound of Isaac tapping lightly on a keyboard. He spent the rest of the afternoon dozing in a deep, medicated sleep. The worst part about that kind of unnatural sleep was waking up feeling heavy and even more lethargic than before.

It was disorienting and dizzying at times. Nothing could have been more disorienting, however, than to return downstairs about ten minutes after waking up to find the house utterly clean and smelling faintly of lemon cleaner and fragrant air freshener.

Stiles paused midway through a yawn at the base of the stairs, his jaw dropping at the sight of it all. He had never been obsessively neat and organized, well, except for when it came to his desk, his bookshelves, and his movie and comic collections, but it looked like the place had gotten an overhaul. He usually kept a moderately clean house, the chores delegated between him and his father for years now, but things had fallen into somewhat of a neglected state for the past two weeks.

The floors of the main entryway all the way to the kitchen had been obviously swept and mopped, the carpets in the den and living room vacuumed, and the dining table had been cleared of old case files and polished. He snapped his mouth closed with an audible click, blinking in wide-eyed astonishment at the sudden transformation, almost expecting it to disappear if he kept his eyes closed long enough.

A small creak in the floorboards of the second landing caused Stiles to whip around, a sudden burst of lightheadedness making him unsteady on his feet for a moment. He was uncertain if it was from the suddenness of the movement or the fact that his father was standing before him showered and shaved with his hair combed and one of his nice shirts on. He was even wearing a tie.

The man shifted uncomfortably, his neck oddly red. “… What?”

Stiles could only stare. “Isaac! What did you put in that sandwich? I think I am having an out-of-body experience.”

“Is it too much?” his father asked, an anxious expression on his face that Stiles had never quite seen before. “It’s the tie, isn’t it?”

Isaac appeared right behind the man and gave him a curious once over. “The tie is a bit much,” he agreed easily. “But then again, I’ve always been partial to scarves myself.”

“This is what going mad must feel like,” Stiles sighed, pressing one cool hand to his forehead. He gave Isaac a victorious look, though it was somewhat muted with the utter bafflement he felt. “See, I told you he was up to something!” He just needed to figure out what that something was, because taking care of dinner, cleaning the house, showering, shaving, and dressing up all sounded like he was expecting company or planning a date—

_Oh_ , Stiles thought dully, his heart thudding dimly in his ears with the realization. It was a date. What other reason could there possibly be? It was the only logical conclusion Stiles could find to all of this, but it was still a bit difficult to comprehend. He looked up at his father, suddenly recalling a conversation from a few months ago.

_I miss your mother._

Those words spoken in the haze of drunkenness had nearly torn a hole in his heart. Stiles recognized the pain of that loss, he honestly did, and he could empathize with it if not understand completely, because losing a mother and losing a wife were two entirely different things. He just wished that he could say that he was okay with this. He certainly wanted to be.

The man had not been on a date in years. This should be a good thing, because loneliness was a trap, it could inspire dark, twisted emotions that threatened to suffocate, and a little comfort could make all the difference. It still felt like a betrayal though, especially after spending time around _her_ things earlier, and the sting of that accusing voice in the back of his head only made him feel numb.

Before either of them could address it at all, the doorbell rang and Stiles moved to answer it automatically. He was ready to hate this faceless and nameless woman. He honestly did not care if it was a childish and petty thought or unjustified, because this woman had turned the slight peace Stiles had found in the past few days into chaos without even needing to be present. He already had drawn up a list of possibilities too, people that ranged from a few of the female deputies to the prosecuting attorneys to the woman that made coffee across from the station.

Stiles stared blankly ahead once the door was open, and the animosity went out like a fuse when he recognized the beautiful smiling face and vibrant blue eyes in front of him. He had no idea how to react, but whatever malicious greeting his spiteful mind had conjured up initially went completely out of his head.

“Mrs. Martin?”

“Hello, Stiles,” the woman greeted warmly. She was dressed more casually today, in a soft white sweater and a pair of simple yet obviously designer jeans. Her arms were burdened with a large glass pan wrapped in tinfoil which admittedly smelled amazing, and a small loaf of what looked like bread wrapped in saran wrap. “It is nice to see you again.”

“You too,” Stiles replied automatically, not sure how else to respond, but thankfully his father chose that precise moment to intervene. A hand fell upon his shoulder as the man came to stand right behind him and he felt the fingers give a comforting squeeze upon contact. He watched his father move forward to offer a greeting of his own.

“Carole,” he said with a hesitant smile on his face. “Thank you so much for this. I can’t tell you enough how much we all appreciate the fact that you offered to cook us dinner, especially since both my son and I are still recovering from everything going on.”

Although the sentiment had clearly been aimed at the woman in question, Stiles had a feeling those words had been said more for his benefit than hers. Subtle his father was not. It did manage to quell any lingering vestiges of hostility, because perhaps he had misread the situation. He supposed it was a bit of an overreaction to immediately hate a woman he had never met before; the fact that he had met her and had even _liked_ her just made hating her so much more complicated, especially if it might not even be a date at all.

“It was no problem,” Mrs. Martin said in reply. “We just wanted to help in any way we could.”

“Can I take that from you?” his father asked quickly, gesturing to the dish and already taking a step forward to retrieve it. “It smells incredible.”

“Thank you.”

Stiles flicked his eyes between the two of them, his resolve all but gone even as that little hope in him about misreading this died away when he noticed the obviously smitten look they exchanged. He sighed to himself and cleared his throat. “Would you like to come in, Mrs. Martin?” he asked as politely as he could muster, only to pause and frown. “Err—I mean, Miss Reese? No, wait… is it _Doctor_ Reese?”

“Just call me Carole,” the woman said smoothly. “And yes, honey, we would love to come in.”

Stiles stepped aside to clear the threshold, and then stiffened in alarm as the words registered. _Wait_ … _we?_ He instantly looked behind her, another figure becoming visible as the woman moved to step inside. He took in the uncomfortable looking high heeled shoes, the short skirt of the trendy dress, and the lavish locks of strawberry blonde in one glance. His astonished brown eyes clashed with a calculating emerald, and his heart stuttered for a moment.

Lydia Martin was inside of his house.

Several thoughts warred with one another as Stiles allowed that to sink in. He closed the door and took in a deep breath, knowing that just a few short weeks ago he probably would have been falling all over himself at this unimaginable event. He no longer cared about Lydia that way though. He thought of her as one of the best people he knew, someone who would get out of this town and quite possibly take over the whole world, but he was not in love with her… because Stiles knew that he could fall in love with someone else.

And that someone else had made it explicitly clear that Lydia was one of the main suspects in being the kanima and had heavily implied what would happen if that suspicion were ever proven. He was supposed to be keeping away from the girl, for both his own safety as well as hers, because Stiles would never forgive himself if anything happened. He quickly cast his gaze toward the stairs and felt a sudden flash of alarm when he noticed that the landing was vacant.

“Excuse me, I just have to…” Stiles wildly gesticulated toward the stairs, not even waiting for acknowledgements before departing. He took the stairs two at a time, not quite aware of the way it aggravated his injuries, and made a mad dash for the room near the end of the hall, skidding to a stop at the sight in front of him. “Isaac, no!”

Isaac looked up with golden eyes, the phone already dialed and pressed to his ear. They stared at each other for one long moment, Isaac in defiance and Stiles in horror. He was going to call in the reinforcements, call for the rest of the pack, and then… Stiles drew in a sharp breath, not quite knowing what would happen then, but only knowing it would be bad.

Stiles shook his head. “Isaac…” He tried to make his voice forceful, to stop this mistake from happening, because people could get hurt, but it came out more like a plea. “You need to let me handle this.”

The werewolf snarled, growl resonating from his chest, and Stiles took a slow, measured step forward when he noticed the thumb hovering just above the send button, not yet pressing it, but just a hairsbreadth away from doing so. He controlled his breathing, despite the fact that he was moments away from panicking.

“Do you remember the other day?” he asked carefully. “I put a knife in your hands and you held it to my throat.” He watched as Isaac tightened his grip on the phone at the reminder, taking it as a small success that the phone call had yet to be sent. “I trusted you to do that. I trusted that you would hold it there without hurting me. Do you remember?”

Isaac nodded in one sharp, jerky movement.

“I trusted you,” Stiles repeated. “I trust you, and now I need you to trust me. I know exactly what Derek thinks, and I know what he said to everyone. I also know that everything in you is probably desperate to obey that order, because he is your alpha and you respect him, and you also want to keep me safe, but think about this okay? Lydia—”

The other boy growled again, eyes flashing at the name.

Stiles licked his lips in apprehension, uncertain if he was getting through or not. “Lydia might be the kanima,” he admitted. “I have no way of knowing yet. She could be the one that tried to hurt you too… or the one that you think was trying to protect you. Her mother is also downstairs right now with my father, neither of which knows about you and the pack. If you press send and they come in looking like you do right now, what do you think will happen?”

Isaac slowly managed to regain control, no longer in danger of shifting entirely, but he made no move to set the phone down just yet. “We will be exposed,” he answered. “Your father and that woman will know about us… it could ruin everything.”

“Please trust me, Isaac. I need you to trust me.”

A soft beep filled the room signaling the call was cancelled. Isaac looked conflicted about it, lowering the device reluctantly, but Stiles breathed out in relief. He watched as the other boy tucked it away, keeping it on hand in his pocket. It was clear what would happen if Lydia did anything wrong, but it was enough that Isaac was even willing to stand down for now.

“Okay,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. His heart was still beating fast and he took a moment to try and steady it. This could either go very smoothly or very roughly, but it would be stressful no matter what. He released a breath and looked up determinedly. “Okay. Now, we are going to calm ourselves and then we are going to go downstairs and have a nice dinner with our guests. Can you do that, Isaac?”

Isaac pursed his lips in displeasure, but managed to nod.

The silence was at least better than the growling. It was something that Stiles could work with, whereas growling and snarling would be a little hard to explain to everyone. The moment Isaac was calmed enough they made their way back down the stairs. Unfortunately now that the adrenalin was wearing off, Stiles was becoming acutely aware of the sharp pains making themselves known from running earlier.

“Is everything all right?”

Stiles looked up at his father, meeting the concerned gaze with a tight smile. “Yep,” he said, feeling the heat of Isaac pressing a bit too close to his back the moment Lydia came into view. He reached behind him and grabbed his wrist, hoping somehow that physical contact would stave off any desire to lunge for her throat, managing to relax marginally when it actually seemed to work.

They all gathered around the table, which had already been set in the time that Stiles had been upstairs averting a disaster. He eased down into a seat with a small grimace, breathing heavily through his nose as the muscles in his abdomen tensed and released. It hurt, there was no denying that, but the pain was manageable.

Isaac immediately made a territorial claim for the one chair directly beside him, leaving Lydia to sit by herself opposite of them while the adults went for the two ends of the table. She was judging them both, Stiles knew, probably running through the strange behavior they exhibited in that pretty little head of hers. He hoped she would let it go, but unfortunately Stiles recognized that gleam of interest in her eyes.

“Shall we eat?” Carole asked, and though her voice pleasant enough, there was also a slight look of unease written across her features. The tension was palpable in the room apparently, so Stiles tried to smile at her. She reached to the center of the table and pulled the tin foil off, revealing a deep dish of sauce and cheese. “I hope you all are hungry.”

“Lasagna?” his father asked eagerly.

“Yes,” the woman agreed, finishing with, “Eggplant lasagna and homemade bread.”

The words hung in the air for a long moment and the two men who had been leaning in at the smell of the food with eager expressions suddenly looked devastated. Stiles pressed his lips together firmly, trying to suppress the laugh that desperately wanted to escape at their expense.  He managed to stifle it into a cough, blinking rapidly as he averted his eyes toward the ceiling.

“Is… that alright?” Carole questioned tentatively, looking between the three of them, her eyes just slightly apprehensive that the dish would not be well received. “It’s just earlier you mentioned that Stiles here was trying to find healthier alternatives and experimenting a lot with vegetable recipes, and then I remembered our own conversation about mushrooms as a meat substitute the other day, so I thought that you might like to try my secret lasagna recipe.”

“Mushrooms?” Isaac repeated in an apprehensive whisper.

 “It… uh…” his father began haltingly, staring at the pan as if it held some kind of parasitic alien life form instead of their dinner. “It’s… perfect.”

Carole looked to Stiles last, and the moment their eyes met, the woman allowed a small smile to play upon her lips. Stiles looked to the dish assessing as everyone began to serve themselves. He turned to look at his father and then back at her, and a sudden thought occurred. He squinted at her in question, a slight tug at his own lips that was rapidly becoming a smile as everyone began eating, and then she sent him a deliberate wink and he abruptly fell apart.

Stiles cackled with glee, his laugh loud and hearty and slightly painful, but so worth it as he sunk down into his chair and pressed his face into the shoulder beside him as his eyes watered—from the stress of everything, from the torrent of feelings weighing him down, or just from the hilarity of the situation, Stiles honestly had no idea and absolutely no intention of trying to find out. He laughed for a good minute, finally coming down from it with a shuddering breath and an audible sigh, wiping the traces of tears from his face.

“Sorry,” he said, lightly, shaking his head. “Inappropriate laughter. Sorry. Please continue eating your eggplant lasagna. So, uh… how did all this come about?” His father looked uncertain for a moment, but whatever was going through his head was clearly not something appropriate for the dinner table.

Stiles knew what he must be thinking. He was analyzing the way Stiles had looked at him earlier on the stairs, doubt probably plaguing his thoughts about this whole thing. He felt a bit of shame run through him for the initial thought of sabotaging this… whatever it was—which was kind of ironic, considering the fact that Stiles was now committed to ensuring nothing happened—and sent the man a more genuine smile this time.

“Well,” the man began, still looking a bit uneasy, but taking the opening to explain. “The thing is, Carole works as a consultant for the station sometimes. She is one of the only licensed psychologists in town, so we call her in whenever we need help building a psychological profile on a case,” his father said. “She was at the station earlier, and stopped by my office to ask how we were both doing and offered to bring us…” He gave his dinner a mournful look. “Dinner.”

“Then your father invited Lydia and I,” Carole added hesitantly, an entirely too understanding look on her face. “Because apparently when someone cooks a meal they have a right to enjoy it themselves. It seemed like a good idea, especially since I know how worried Lydia has been for you, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to give her an excuse to come see how you were holding up.”

Stiles felt his breath catch, and his eyes swiftly moved to look at the former recipient of his affections. He noticed the subtle tightening of her features and the way she glared at her mother, and fought the urge to smile about it. She really had been worried. Scott had mentioned her asking about him, but that had been rather low on his list of priorities at the time to consider what it meant. He would take concern over hate at any rate.

Another bout of confused silence ensued as the conversation died away. The only sound was the scraping of forks against the dishware as Isaac and his dad pushed the food on their plates around on the pretense of actually eating it. Stiles watched closely as they each stared at it with their faces screwed up in anticipated disgust. His father finally manned up, obviously not wanting to appear rude considering this was a free meal, and he slowly took a bite.

Lydia sighed. “This is painful to watch.”

“No, no, it’s…” the man said. “The uh… eggplant… is actually kind of good.”

“Dad?” Stiles said. He pointed to the food and shook his head. “That is not eggplant.”

“It’s not?” he asked, sounding even more uneasy than before. He stared down at his plate warily, clearly wondering what the hell he had just put in his mouth. “What is it?”

Stiles gave him a grave look. “… They’re called… noodles.”

His father frowned in bewilderment. It made Stiles snicker again.

Lydia groaned to herself. “Sheriff Stilinski, when my mother was at the station earlier one of your deputies was complaining about you eating potato chips because _someone_ —” Her eyes cut to Stiles “—apparently calls them on a regular basis to ensure you strictly adhere to a healthier diet when you can’t be supervised.” She looked around impatiently and her eyebrows rose in that way made everyone in the vicinity feel inferior. “My mother played a prank on you.”

“… No eggplant?”

Carole smiled mischievously. “No eggplant.”

“Oh, thank God,” the man breathed out. “I mean, uh, I would have enjoyed it either way, but…”

“Don’t worry, dad,” Stiles interjected, a sly smirk on his face. “I’ll look up a recipe, and we can try it another time.” He chuckled a bit when his father sent him a look.

Dinner went much smoother after that. The ingenious trick Carole had played had done wonders on defusing the tension in the room, but the conversations were still a bit stilted, with a few more awkward silences in between. He was painfully aware that Lydia was being a bit too observant, her brilliant green eyes watching Isaac and Stiles surreptitiously.

It was clear to see that Lydia had picked up on the fact that Isaac bristled any time she so much as looked at Stiles. He was spending a great deal of time trying to ensure that the other boy stayed suitably distracted, but the fact still remained that Lydia was intruding where Isaac really didn’t want her and the wolf was hyperaware of everything she did.

By the time they had finished the meal and piled the plates in the sink, the tension radiating from Isaac had become noticeable even to Carole and his dad.

“So when do you two go back to school?” Carole asked, obviously trying to disperse the stifling atmosphere that had settled back over the room.

“Not soon enough for Stiles,” his dad said, pointedly avoiding the anxious look on Stiles’ face. “He has been chomping at the bit to go back.” He stood and absently wiped his hands on his pant leg before remembering he was supposed to be in polite company. “Would you like a drink, Carole?” he offered to cover up his faux pas.

Stiles thought nothing of it at first because a stiff drink was something even Stiles could use after a dinner like that, but then he felt Isaac go completely stiff beside him as his father moved toward the liquor cabinet. His own stomach dropped with awareness, and he shared a glance with the other boy.

“Isaac…” he started quietly, but the alcohol was obviously the last straw for the werewolf, because the moment the bottle was opened and the scent of it filled his lungs, he was on his feet and already in motion.

“I have to go for a walk,” Isaac said, and practically bolted from the room. A second later the sound of the front door opening and closing forcefully could be heard. His father looked a bit dumfounded by the sudden departure, but Stiles knew it wouldn’t take long for him to realize why Isaac might have reacted badly.

“Is everything okay?” Carole asked a moment later, concern emanating from every pore.

Stiles looked at her and nodded quickly. “Yeah, he’s fine,” he said, aware of the fact that Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. He avoided her gaze. “He’s just… tired. We both are. It’s been a long day, and… tiring.” He looked toward the door, partly out of want to go check on Isaac and partly for an escape. He stood and yawned to illustrate his point, but he made the mistake of stretching as he did so and was unable to hide the wince that came with pulling at the muscles of his abdomen.

“Do you need some help, son?” his father asked.

Stiles shook his head adamantly. He doubted Isaac would have gone far, despite needing some space for a moment. He could probably lure the boy back inside through the window, at least until the company was gone, and hopefully that would stop Isaac from giving into the urge to use the phone still in his pocket.

“No, I’m sure I can crawl up the stairs if I need to. You guys have fun. Thank you for dinner,” he added hastily, nodding at Carole. “It was great.”

“You’re welcome, Stiles,” Carole said, her eyes cutting toward her daughter. “Lydia, why don’t you help him upstairs?”

“I really don’t need—”

“I would be happy to help,” Lydia said smoothly, gliding to her feet. She wrapped an arm around his middle before Stiles had a chance to register a protest and guided him along to the staircase. He could hear the clink of glasses and murmurs in the distance, and resigned himself for what was about to come.

Lydia refused to release him until they were already inside his room. She deposited him swiftly onto the bed and Stiles felt his eye tick with apprehension as she shut the door behind herself before she turned around. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked without pretense, hands on her hips.

Stiles blinked up at her. “You are a very scary individual,” he said as she loomed over him. She did make for an impressive sight, all suspicion and frustration finally apparent in her features after an hour of polite smiles. The way Lydia could go from one extreme to the next was positively intimidating.

“And you’re changing the subject,” she pointed out.

“I think changing the subject is a very underrated tactic,” Stiles said weakly, eyes glancing toward the closed window. He idly wondered if Isaac was listening in on this conversation. “You should try it sometime.”

Lydia glared at him. “I know something is going on, Stiles,” she said evenly. “Everyone is acting like they have something to hide. Even my best friend is keeping secrets from me and you…” She cut off with a laugh, one entirely devoid of humor. It sounded bitter. “You are just like everyone else.”

The words stung, and Stiles stared down at his hands, unable to look her in the eyes any longer. He knew how Lydia Martin viewed most people. How she felt the need to guard herself, to make them believe she was vain and a bit dim, because she was disinclined to easily trust the people who disappointed her, but for a while there he had earned her respect. He had been her friend for a very short time, and in the end he had disappointed her too…

_Just like everyone else_.

“I know,” he said tiredly, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m sorry about that night at the school, when I didn’t stay with you. I made you a promise, and in hindsight, I shouldn’t have because there was no way I could’ve kept it even if…” He trailed off. “I’m sorry that we haven’t really talked since then.” He looked up earnestly, suddenly desperate for her to understand. “You’re right… something is going on, and what I’m sorry for most is that as much as I wish I could… I can’t tell you what it is.”

Lydia lost some of that fire in her eyes, her features softening somewhat. She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and sat down carefully beside him, smoothing the skirt of her dress as she did so. “Your little bodyguard is gone for now,” she said reasonably. “There’s nothing stopping you.” She rolled her eyes at the stuttered noise that escaped his throat. “Please, as if I didn’t realize that your new friends were intentionally keeping us apart. They lack any form of subtlety whatsoever.”

“Whatever you do, please don’t tell them that,” Stiles begged her, a humorless smile on his face. “The fact that they think they’re being stealthy is literally the only advantage I have right now.”

She gave him a disbelieving look. “Right. Because _you’re_ so inconspicuous.”

He nodded. “I bet you never noticed, huh?”

That got a small smile out of her, and a pitying shake of her head. “I see more than you think,” she said seriously. “I see the way you and Scott are miles apart even when standing right next to each other. I see the way you take everything Harris says because you somehow think he might be right.” She gave him a look when he attempted to protest. “I see how tired you are… and it isn’t just because you spent all night trying to keep Isaac Lahey from lashing out for whatever reason. I see you…”

Stiles swallowed thickly and offered her a weak smile. Weeks ago, he would have given anything to be having this conversation with her. He would have been jumping at the chance to explain, to be able to confide in her and tell her exactly what was bothering him. He understood now, though, that this was much bigger than either of them. He had more people to protect now, because the pack… their friendship may have gotten off to a rocky start, but Stiles was in this for good and not even Lydia could compromise his resolve.

“I know you do,” he admitted. “Scott and I were going through some things, but in the end he is my best friend and my brother, and we are working it out. Harris… was questioned last month, because of a past involvement with Kate Argent, and apparently he is taking out his grudge against my father on me. I can take what he doles out, but not because I believe what he’s saying… it’s just too much of a hassle to fight back. As for Isaac… he is struggling right now. He has been through a lot, and… he’s just a bit protective right now.”

Lydia scoffed. “That is an understatement,” she said. “Prada is more subtle about his dislike with Jackson than Lahey was of me being in your house.”

“Prada? Your dog?”

“No, my designer handbag,” she said, and he squinted at her. She rolled her eyes. “Yes, my dog. He never really liked him before, but lately he’s been growling at him whenever he comes over. Lahey might as well have had a tail and a set of canines, because I half expected for him to growl at me when I passed you the bread earlier.”

Isaac was being compared to a small dog. He pressed his lips together to contain the smile, but Lydia saw it regardless. Lydia probably saw everything. She saw through the lies and the excuses, through all of the bullshit everyone had been throwing at her for weeks. She saw it and that was the problem, because she didn’t understand what she was seeing.

She had been there that night at the school, when they were trapped by something that had ripped doors right off their hinges; she had been confronted with the glowing red eyes and glistening fangs head-on when Peter Hale had bitten her. She had never really gotten any answers for either of those nights.

“You’re not going to tell me anything,” Lydia sighed, not even bothering to make it into a question. He said nothing in reply. “Fine, I get secrets, and I can deal with them even if they do involve me somehow. You—” She pointed an accusing finger at him, poking him hard in the chest with a sharp fingernail. “—will stop avoiding me though. Got it? I’ve gotten used to having someone I can be myself around, and you will not take that away from me.”

Stiles winced, his features twisting up apologetically.

“Seriously?” she demanded. “We share a moment of honesty now and you are _still_ going to treat me like I have the bubonic plague? Why?”

“… I can’t answer that.”

Lydia expelled a breath. “You do realize that if our parents start dating then we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” she pointed out rationally. “What happens if you’re still running in the opposite direction from me if they actually go from casual lunches and awkward family dinners to something more serious? Then what are you going to do?”

“Wait… lunches?” Stiles frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Our parents have been meeting up for weeks,” she said, her green eyes narrowing as she poked him again. “And Stiles, quit trying to change the subject. I want answers.”

“No, really,” he insisted. “What do you mean _weeks?_ ”

Lydia studied him, her mouth flattening. “You really didn’t know.”

“They’ve been dating for _weeks?_ ” he choked out, forcefully flattening his fingers out over the tops of his thighs when his nails bit into the fleshy part of his palms. He knew things with his father had been uneasy, but he would have thought the man would have at least told him if he were seeing anyone. He rubbed at his eyes unashamedly, shaking his head as scenarios flashed through his mind. “All the times I thought he was putting in extra hours at work, he was… with her…?”

“No,” Lydia told him, and he looked down as she placed an understanding hand on his forearm. “They really were working. She came home complaining about having trouble creating a psych profile more than once. They have been working together a lot, but I think until this past week it was strictly a work relationship.” She sighed and then added, “I actually thought that might be why you were avoiding me.”

Stiles frowned at her. “Because of my obvious crush on you?” he asked, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “Something that my father has known about since third grade, which would explain the reason he never even mentioned working with your mother, because if he was even slightly attracted to her, knowing my feelings for you…” He shook his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Okay. How serious do you think it will get?”

“My mother hasn’t dated anyone since the divorce,” Lydia mused to herself, shrugging slightly. “She and my dad were separated for almost a year before that, which means she has been going cold turkey for almost two years now. She never even tried the whole rebound thing, not even after finding out about the affairs my dad had. That is a lot of pent-up frustration for anyone, let alone a middle-aged woman who spends all of her days listening to other people complain about their own frustrations. Not to mention your dad is pretty hot, I mean, seriously hot, right up there with Allison’s—”

“Oh my God!” Stiles said, rising to his feet to stare at her in horror. “That is just, so wrong, on so, so many levels, so please never say anything remotely like that again. Okay? Even if I might agree with you about Chris Argent, because… yeah, okay, penetrating blue eyes, awesome body and all, and have you heard his voice? But no, my dad, please leave him out of any hotness scale you have. Okay?”

Lydia tilted her head, her eyes sweeping over him assessing. He played back everything he had just said through his head, going over each word, and winced a bit. He had just admitted that he found Chris Argent sort of hot. Not only that, but he had actually _listed_ the reasons. There was no way in hell Lydia would erase that part of their conversation from her mind, not even if he begged her to.

“Also,” he said, mouth feeling a bit dry. “Can I just say that it is kind of disturbing that you can comment on your parents’ sexual life so nonchalantly?”

“… Noted,” she said with an all too knowing smile. Lydia rose to her feet as well, coming to stand right in front of him. “Just so you know… if my mom was to be serious about anyone after what my dad put her through… then I would want him to be someone like your father.” She gave him a serious look. “He’s a good man.”

“The best,” Stiles agreed. “I wish I could reciprocate, but… still processing.”

“They say it takes approximately three days for the mind to adapt to information it receives,” Lydia said knowingly. “They call it perceptual adaptation. I’ve had more than three days, so I think you’re entitled to hate her just a little until you get used to the idea. That still does not explain why you still intend to ignore me though, especially since your former infatuation with me is no longer an issue.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I kind realized after driving you home that night we went ice skating that it was time to move on.”

“Which is the only reason I am talking to you again after you ditched me, and Stiles? You are still using avoidance tactics. Please just…” She sighed in frustration and gave him a searching look. “Did I do something to you? Because I have been trying to figure this out since Erica Reyes practically dragged you away in the lunch room a few weeks ago, and I can’t think of another reason that your friends would feel the need to protect you from _me._ ”

“You say that as if you are not the most intimidating person in the room,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood, but she merely leveled him with a frown. “No, it has nothing to do with anything you did,” Stiles sighed, feeling as though he owed her this much. “Please know that I would tell you if I could.”

A soft buzz interrupted them, and Stiles shot her an apologetic glance as he checked his phone. It was another text from Scott. _Dude, is everything okay? Isaac just sent out a mass text, putting everyone on standby. Did something happen?_

Stiles winced at the message. _Everything is fine, but_ _did you know my dad was seeing someone?_ He held his breath, waiting for his best friend to take the bait.

_Whoa, really?_

He let out a breath. Sometimes Scott was just the perfect amount of predictable.

_You okay with that?_

Stiles turned his head when he felt Lydia lean in closer, smiling as the girl read the messages over his shoulder unabashedly. His thumbs hesitated over the keys briefly, but eventually he typed, _I might be eventually. She seems really nice. Tell you the details in a bit?_

_K._ Scott replied. _Talk to you then!_

Stiles was in the process of tucking the phone away when a voice called up the stairs. “Lydia! It’s almost time to go, sweetheart!”

“… I will figure this out eventually,” Lydia said, not really a vow or a promise, but definitely the truth. He knew she would do it too, of that he had no doubt. It was only a matter of time. She had most of the pieces of the puzzle; she just had to put them together in order to get an idea of the overall picture.

“I know you will,” he said, offering her a helpless shrug. “Until then…”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “Until then,” she said, swiftly moving toward the door.

Stiles released a long breath once she was out of sight. _It could have gone worse,_ he thought. It really could have. They had edged around topics without fully broaching them, had avoided the real issues, and Stiles, like always, evaded, evaded, evaded… She might have called him on it, but she never got any answers either. He flopped back down on the bed, one hand pressed to his stinging side.  He felt drained, even more so than earlier, but something felt a bit different now.

Something felt lighter.

Footsteps alerted him to someone approaching, and for a moment Stiles thought it might have been Isaac returning, but it was just Lydia again. She had a large bag in her hands, an old backpack, but it was absolutely stuffed full inside. She moved further into the room and set it down onto the bed all without looking at him.

“Here.”

Stiles peered inside curiously, noting the large stack of papers inside.

“Those are all the notes for our classes together,” she told him smoothly. “Danny collected the ones from the two you share with him too.” She flipped her hair carelessly and turned on her heel. “I expect you will utilize the upcoming four day weekend to study so you can still compete with me for top of the class.”

Stiles stared at the meticulously detailed notes. He felt a bit touched that she had compiled these for him. All of the teachers had been forwarding the assignments he had been missing, but there were some areas he was struggling in since he hadn’t attended the actual lessons to teach the content. Just from a quick glance, these notes went over everything that he had missed in class, with extra instruction on how to complete assignments more efficiently.

“Thank you,” he said, giving her an apologetic look. “And I really am sorry about bailing on you a few weeks ago. I meant what I said to you that night though… you _can_ talk to me if you need to, but…” Just not in person. He sighed to himself. “Maybe just on the phone or something, until… things clear up?”

Lydia regarded him coolly, her eyes narrowed and assessing. He must have passed whatever test she gave him though, because she eventually sighed. “That wasn’t the first time a boy ditched me,” she said dismissively. “Though, I have to admit, that was the first time it happened since I got my braces removed and my breasts developed.”

“I liked your braces,” Stiles said kindly, and she gave him a small smile in return.

“Goodbye, Stiles,” she said. “See you in school.”

“Bye, Lydia,” he replied, watching as she flounced away. He listened for a while longer and he heard the front door close after a brief murmur of conversation between his father and Carole. In that time Isaac never returned, neither through the door nor the window, and Stiles tried not to feel too anxious about that. Isaac would have contacted everyone if something else was wrong, so perhaps he just needed some more time.

On that thought, Stiles pulled his phone out again to check his messages. There were no messages, not from anyone, and he frowned. _Where are you?_ he sent to Isaac, already typing out another message to Scott so they could talk about what just happened. He never got a chance to send it, because a second later he heard the window behind him being forced open.

“… Stiles.”

The gravelly voice filled the room, followed by the sound of heavy breathing approaching him. He knew who it was without having to turn around, the voice achingly familiar, therefore he didn’t so much as flinch as hands came down heavy on his hips, the warm planes of a firm chest coming against his back.

Stiles exhaled shakily and slowly pushed the phone back into his pocket. He would have to talk to Scott later, because right now the love life of his father was ranking slightly less than the enraged alpha werewolf currently holding him. He tried to steel himself for the train wreck this conversation was sure to be as he turned around in the hold, lifting his head to meet the burning scarlet eyes currently glowering at him.

“Hey there, Sourwolf,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “… I guess we need to talk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's finally done! I couldn't have done this without my beta reader, TamismyFather, who not only edited this monster of a chapter, but also helped write some of the ending I was struggling with in order to move things along :)


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